Where is My Mind
by wifeymcwiferson
Summary: When Dean disappears in New Mexico and mysteriously reappears hundreds of miles away, Bobby and Sam are baffled. Before they can figure out what's happening, Dean's gone again. Something might be having a little to much fun with Dean Winchester, and the travel is taking its toll. Wanna tag along? :) Adventure and mayhem; featuring whiskey, think tanks, and road weary Dean!
1. Long Distance Dean

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything…but I have my stories at least!**

**I hope you enjoy this…and I am starting on chapter two as I get this ready to post! Wheeeeeeeeeee! Please remember to leave a review, they really do inspire me and feed the writing machine. Thanks!**

Small drops of brilliant light slowly fell from the sky, filling his vision. As each one touched his skin, it exploded, the sensation sending shivers through him.

A loud noise nearby caused him to jump, but his eyes never strayed from the dark sky overhead.

He knew he needed to get out of the rain. He knew he needed to find Sam.

But still he lay there, unaware of how much time was passing; watching the rain drops fall, each one reflecting the moon.

Lights, red and blue, joined in the overhead display; their colors setting the rain ablaze.

Hands grabbed him, voices filled the air; invading the surreal moment. He wanted to tell them to shut up, to stop and watch the lights with him. Someone rolled him onto his side, sliding something under him. He felt himself being lifted from the ground; his heart skipped a beat, wondering if he could just rise into the sky, away from the ground, away from the cold.

The sound of the ambulance door slamming shut got through to him; shaking a word loose from his lips.

"Sam."

"Who," a nearby voice asked. He felt a blanket being firmly pulled around him.

"I need Sam."

**New Mexico: **

"Dean," Sam murmured as he rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head. His eyes opened as another round of Dean's 'Ace of Spades' ringtone started again. "Dean! Answer your phone!"

When Dean didn't answer his phone or snap at Sam to shut up, he sat up and flipped on the light.

Dean's bed was empty.

Sam glanced at the bathroom door, it was closed. 'Dammit Dean, can you stop being hung over,' Sam thought to himself.

With a scalding glare at the bathroom door, Sam grabbed the phone and answered. "Yeah?"

"_Sam! Where the hell are you_," Bobby yelled into the phone.

Sam started at the loud voice, wincing. "Dean and I are in New Mexico, why?"

"_Are you sure about that_?"

"Um—pretty damn sure Bobby. I checked us into a hotel with a giant sombrero hat as a roof about seven hours ago. Why, what's wrong?"

The line went quiet. "Bobby?"

"_Do you have your sights on Dean—right now_," Bobby asked quietly.

"Not right this second. He went out about five hours ago to the bar to shoot pool," Sam said, getting annoyed. "Lights on in the bathroom; think he's sleeping one off on the floor."

"_Sam, I'm not sure what's going on out there with you…but I'm staring at Dean right now_," Bobby said cautiously.

Sam froze. "Not possible."

"_I'm looking at Dean—or a damn good Dean replica_," Bobby said.

"Shifter," Sam asked, his heart pounding in his ears.

"_Could be_," Bobby said into the phone. "_I got a call from a hospital in Minnesota. They found my number on him; I figured you were with him. When you weren't here, I knew I'd better start looking for you_."

"Bobby, it's impossible! I'm looking at the Impala right now, it's outside of our room," Sam stated, turning back to finding a silver knife in his duffel.

"_Doesn't matter, no car could have gotten him from New Mexico to Minnesota in five hours_," Bobby said as he stared through the window at Dean. "_What's the plan, Sam?_"

"You check your Dean. I'll check mine. Call you back in five."

Bobby slid his phone back in his pocket and smiled at the passing nurse. He walked into the room and quietly closed the door, reaching to pull the blinds shut. He moved to the bed and stared down at Dean. According to the nurses he hadn't said anything since he came in, except for one word—Sam.

Bobby watched as his eyes roll under their lids, his breathing steady. Hypothermia and confusion, too much exposure to the elements, what the doctor had said. Bobby pulled the small pocket knife out of his pocket, pulling free the silver blade he had refitted into the handle. He glanced at the door as he considered what place the nurses wouldn't notice a cut between now and Dean's discharge… if he was the real Dean. Bobby pulled the heavy blankets back and rolled Dean onto his side, pulling his leg free. A shallow cut behind the knee wouldn't be noticed much.

Bobby was placing a small bandage on the cut when his phone went off. He hurriedly replaced Dean's blankets, worried that Dean hadn't stirred at the cut he had received. He continued to sleep, drugged by the sheer warmth the hospital had wrapped him in.

"He's not here," Sam said as soon as hear Bobby answer the phone. "Thought he was, but he's nowhere. No sign that he ever came back to the motel room actually."

"_Well, this one isn't a shifter. No reaction to the silver, in fact, no reaction at all_," Bobby said as he opened the door to the room and reopened the blinds. "_He's out of it, but nothing we can't handle back at the house. I'll do my best to get him out of here as soon as I can. Meet you back at the junk yard?_"

"Be there as soon as I can," Sam said as he crammed clothes in his duffel. "How is Dean? Has he said anything yet? How did he get—"

"_Don't get your panties in a twist, boy. He's out of it, not talking. Not even awake_," Bobby said, trying to calm Sam down, knowing it wouldn't do any good. "_He looks alright. Nothing major. I'll call once we're on the road."_

Bobby frowned as he continued to stare at Dean, letting out a huge sigh. "Wake up Dean," he grumbled. "We need answers."

**Okay, it's been a while since I've done a multi chapter story, but I am excited about this one! **

**Due your civic literary duty, leave a review! **

**Any thoughts on what happened to our Dean? Give me your thoughts! **


	2. Houdini Dean

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Supernatural. I'd be happier just being a writer anyhow…for Kripke!...*deep sigh* That would be awesome…Okay, back to reality- oh right! This is fiction.**

** Moving on!**

**Alright fellow cohorts, you start reading and reviewing; while I start chapter three up.**

Bobby drove through the morning light, his car eating up the miles between Minnesota and home. Dean remained quiet from his place on the backseat. Neither one of them had said much since Bobby had roughly awakened Dean and hustled him out of the hospital. The first question out of Dean had been to ask where Sam was, the second was him wanting to know the date. He had sat, stunned and silent, on his bed as Bobby laced his boots and argued with the nurses.

Bobby was sure Dean hadn't even been truly awake as he had signed his own Against Medical Advice discharge paperwork.

Bobby frowned, worry eating at him. The doctor said Dean would be fine after some down time. He was so deep in thought that he nearly missed the sound from the backseat.

"What was that Dean," Bobby asked. "You awake, kid?"

"Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"Where is Sam?"

"He's on the way. He'll be meeting us at my house sometime late tonight," Bobby reminded him.

"Where are we," Dean asked. He knew they were on the road, the feel of the car trying to lull him back to sleep.

"Nearly out of Minnesota and back into South Dakota," Bobby explained, concerned over Dean's confusion. "Why? Where do you think we are?"

He heard a yawn. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday," Bobby replied.

Dean didn't reply right away. "Tuesday…what's the date?"

Bobby swerved onto the off ramp, heading for the truck stop. He needed coffee and answers. After the engine cut out, he turned and stared down at Dean, laying on the backseat. His face was pale, stubbly. "Dean, son, just humor me. Where do you think we are?"

Dean squirmed under Bobby's gaze. "You already said we were—"

"No. Not where I told you we are; where do _you_ think we are?"

Dean shrugged and sat up, gazing around.

"Alright, what day do you think it is?"

"Tuesday."

Bobby glared at Dean. "Smartass. Date?"

Dean looked uncertain. "June something."

Bobby didn't let his concern show through, it was May. He'd call Sam. "I'm gonna grab a coffee. Stay put."

"We're in the middle of nowhere. Where am I gonna go, Bobby?"

"That's exactly what I'm worried about."

Bobby hurried into the store, paying for gas and coffee.

As he climbed back into the car, he glanced over the seat and froze. Dean was gone.

Bobby looked frantically around the parking lot, but he couldn't see Dean anywhere. He ran back into the gas station, checked the bathrooms and adjacent diner, still no sign of Dean. He asked everyone around, but no one had seen Dean get out of the car. He was about to call Sam when he saw a cop car race past the gas station, lights blazing. He raced to his car without thinking. Dean had only been missing for a few minutes, he couldn't have gotten far. Bobby found the cop car, three miles away in a small city park.

Bobby grabbed a fake badge and headed for the cop, who was talking to a fearful looking young woman. Bobby could see Dean in the backseat of the cop car, looking confused. The cop glanced at Bobby's badge and filled him in. "This woman said she was out for a morning run, nearly fell right over him, scared her to death. He was talking nonsense and unable to get up on his own. I'm guessing drunk."

Bobby cleared his throat, making the young man look at him. "Actually, I'm here to arrest him for arson in South Dakota. You mind letting me take him from here?"

The young man hesitated but nodded. "Sure, why not? Save me some paperwork."

Bobby led Dean, handcuffed, to his car. With a nod to the cop, he headed back to the interstate. Bobby pulled over before the on ramp.

"Dean, you with me," Bobby asked loudly.

Dean didn't answer him. He was mumbling, his eyes moving every which way, his hands moving incessantly. "Dean!"

"Bobby," Dean asked slowly, his mouth barely forming to word.

"Yeah, you alright kid," Bobby asked again.

"Key," he asked, fighting the restricted movement of the cuffs.

Bobby pulled a handcuff key from his pocket and handed it to Dean. Bobby took the handcuffs from Dean and hefted them in his hand. They might offer him some piece of mind, if nothing else. With one swift motion he handcuffed Dean to the door handle. Dean yanked against the restraint, rolling his head towards Bobby, glaring. "Bobby?"

"Not taking any chances," Bobby said before he shifted into gear.

They road in silence for an hour before Bobby asked, "Wanna tell me how the hell you got from New Mexico to Minnesota in five hours? You didn't fly, drive, or walk. Spill it, boy."

Dean shook his head. "I didn't even know I was in Minnesota until you said so Bobby. The last thing I remember was walking out of the bar near our motel in New Mexico."

"How long were you in the bar before you left?"

"I don't know, maybe two hours. They didn't have a pool table so there wasn't much to do."

"Well, that moves the timeline down to three hours; three hours that put you over a thousand miles away from your brother," Bobby said, speculating over the possibilities.

They didn't say anything for a long while, riding in silence.

"Dean, about the date…it's May 12th, not June."

Dean looked surprised, but didn't say anything.

"Sure you don't remember anything else," Bobby asked softly. "Anything at all?"

Dean shook his head. "Not a damn thing. Just a few minutes of lying in the ambulance, then you in the hospital room shaking me awake. Not even sure how I got to the ambulance."

Bobby felt Dean's question. "You were found laying next the road, half in a ditch. The kid who found you claims you couldn't have been there for more than an hour, said he passed that same spot on his way to drop off his girlfriend, he found you on his way home…weird part is that the doctor claimed that given the current weather, there was no way you could have gotten such a bad case of exposure in such a short time."

Dean pulled Bobby's jacket around him, remembering the rain falling on him.

"And then your little Houdini act back at the gas station…we're gonna have to figure this out," Bobby stated.

"Whatever it was, maybe it—"

"Don't even say that 'it won't happen again' cause if there is one thing I know about the Winchesters, it's that nothing is ever easy," Bobby said, cutting Dean off.

Dean snorted and turned back to the window, staring. It was bright out. For some reason, it made him feel empty. Anxious, even. Somewhere, he was missing out on something.

Bobby drove silently, watching Dean out of the corner of his eye. He knew that until Sam arrived, he needed to keep a close eye on the older boy, trouble was brewing and he wasn't going to let it happen on his watch. Not again.

Dean woke to the car door slamming. He followed Bobby inside, heading for the upstairs, still tired.

"Nope. Take the couch," Bobby said firmly.

Dean turned, surprised. Bobby had always let them use the spare bedroom; hell, he usually demanded they get their asses of the couch and into a real bed.

"Until we know that happened, I want you close. Within my sights and locked down," Bobby said. "I can start doing some research while you get some sleep. Be easier if you were closer to the books."

Dean nodded. "Sure thing, Bobby..."

Hours away, Sam barreled down the interstate, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He stared straight ahead, his eyes glued to the road; while his mind was whirring with possibilities of what could be happened to Dean. The fact that Dean seemed unharmed, except for the outdoor exposure and exhaustion, made the incident seem more of a curiosity than a hostile act. That would seemingly rule out demons and most everything else they had pissed off. He shook his head in frustration, he couldn't think of anything. He was angry at himself for not going with Dean to the bar…maybe if he had been with him…or maybe if he had somehow kept Dean from going…maybe…it was Sam's fault.

It was evening when Bobby heard the rumble of the Impala pulling into the yard.

He glanced up from the text in front of him. He was surprised when Dean didn't shift at the sound. Under different conditions, he would have gone to check the car and Sam. Now he stared at the ceiling, unblinking. He had spent hours slowly pulling against the handcuff; loose, taut, loose, taut. The rhythm hadn't ceased when Bobby had asked about it; and fearing Dean would hurt himself, Bobby had wrapped a washcloth around his wrist under the cuff.

Bobby left Dean on the couch and met Sam at the door. "Go see your brother and then meet me in the kitchen."

Sam tore through the house and came to halt when he saw Dean.

Dean looked up and said, "Please say it's time to go, Sammy."

Sam shook his head. "No, Dean. We need to figure out what's happening to you. We're staying here. And I do mean ALL of us, okay?"

"Fine. See if you can spring me though. Bobby is a real prison warden," Dean grumbled. "Been here on my ass all day."

Sam laughed. "That's kind of the idea, Dean. Is there anything you remember?"

"I already told Bobby that I don't remember anything," Dean snapped. "Now let me loose."

"Give me a minute to talk to Bobby," Sam said with a sympathetic nod. They had all been restrained at some point and it never got any easier. Sam himself still felt panicky at the idea of being restrained, the anxiety of detoxing in the panic room had always been closely under the surface.

Bobby was standing over the stove when Sam walked in, burgers in the frying pan.

"That a peace offering," Sam asked with a knowing smile. He had bought enough peace-offering burgers and pies over the years to know one when he saw it.

Bobby snorted into a beer. "He's refused to acknowledge me for the past four hours. He's done being handcuffed, but Sam—he disappeared right out of the car—that's not something we're prepared to handle, not without some more information."

"Trust me, I'd have done the same thing," Sam sympathized.

"So, what the hell do we do now," Bobby asked.

Before Sam could answer, a muffled yell came from the other room. He rushed into the room, Bobby right on his heels. They froze in the doorway. Dean was still handcuffed to the iron bar Bobby had bolted to the wall right over the couch, but something was wrong.

He was levitating. Nearly two foot off the couch; his arm was painfully contorted as it pulled against the metal restraint that held him.

He was obviously trying to yell, although it was muffled; as though coming from somewhere far away or underwater.

His image suddenly flickered, much like a spirit might.

He turned and made eye contact with Sam, terror in his eyes. He opened his mouth again, another pain and fear filled scream rushed out of his lungs just as Sam dove towards him.

Just as Sam reached for him, Dean flickered and disappeared.

"Dean!"

**Alrighty then…my face hurts from all the evil smirking I've been doing this morning. Bwahahahaha! How do you like it so far? Hopefully, you're enjoying this…cause I sure am! Review Revolution!**

**Anyone want to furnish a good guess what they're dealing with?! Do your worst! ;) **


	3. West Coast Dean

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, but I'd share it if I did. Wanna go halfsies?**

**Author's Note: I just can't stop working on this story! It's going to get me into trouble—I have 2k words to edit before today's Writer Alliance meeting…and I need to iron my cape as well….Please remember to review, if you can take the time. I always love knowing if the story is tickling your fancy.**

Bobby and Sam sat silently across the table from each other. They were far past the need for some serious rest, a half empty bottle of Wild Turkey stood between them.

They were rounding down to sunrise; books, maps, talking boards, even a scrying bowl, were scattered all the way from Bobby's desk into the kitchen.

Sam was the first to break the heavy silence that had settled over the house. "What the hell happened in there? "

Bobby shook his head slowly, his eyes glued to the bottle of his glass. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"There's gotta be someone else we can call," Sam said through gritted teeth. "Someone has to know what this is."

"I've called everyone I know, Sam," Bobby explained quietly. "All we can do is wait for someone to call us back."

The silence resumed for another few minutes until Sam spoke again, his voice cracking. "Where do you think he is?"

Bobby didn't want to think about it. "No idea."

"He looked so scared Bobby," Sam said. Worry and fear had taken over Sam, his shoulders hunched while his throat seemed tight with emotion.

"I know," Bobby replied. That fact had him more worried than anything else, Dean didn't scare easily. He drained his glass and filled it again. There had to be something…to try…to do…to think of….anything other than sit on their asses like a bunch of emotional ninnies.

As the sun rose over the horizon, Bobby sent Sam up to sleep.

"One of us has to be awake enough to answer the phones," Bobby had argued. "You can take over after some sleep."

Sam dragged his feet up the stairs and dropped onto the bed. He tossed and turned for an hour, his ears pricking at any sound he could hear or imagine; the sound of a telephone, a car's engine, a door slamming …a voice. Dean's voice.

He was on his second trip the bathroom, a sad excuse to listen at the top of the stairs, when Bobby called up to him.

"Sam, get your ass back in that bed and get some goddamn sleep. I'm gonna need some shut eye in a few hours' time. I want you ready to answer phones and make dinner," Bobby yelled from his chair at the desk.

Sam stood silently, glancing back at the bedroom. He wasn't able to sleep—

"NOW!"

Sam scurried back down the hallway and dropped back onto the bed with a frustrated sigh.

Three hours later, Bobby stepped out on the porch, staring out across the junkyard. No one had called.

**Somewhere Unknown**

Dean woke slowly. Painfully. His head swam as sensations assailed him.

A faint smell filled his lungs, heady and sweet, his stomach churning with want.

A sound filled his ears, making his brain rattle in his skull. He clutched his head in his hands, only then feeling the burning pain in his arm. He forced his eyes open; they felt gritty as he tried to bring his arm into focus. Bruises wrapped around his wrist, snaking to his elbow.

He lifted his head momentarily. He could see nothing useful.

He dropped his back onto the ground with a thump. He groaned as he forced his sore hand into his pocket, smiling almost triumphantly when he felt his phone. He frowned when he saw the time. It was noon, but what day?

Bobby answered on the first ring.

"Dean! Dean, where the hell are ya, boy," Bobby crowed into the phone.

Dean tried to speak, but found his mouth dry, parched even.

He coughed and croaked out, "I don't know."

"Okay," Bobby said, trying to push him calm through the phone to Dean. "Look around you. Listen. What's near you?"

Dean rolled over onto his knees, groaning as he did. His feet and legs ached to the very bones, the muscles contracting painfully. His head pivoted this way and that, until he heard a familiar sound.

"I hear traffic," Dean said, relief flooding his voice.

"Good! Head to it, find a road sign. Anything to help us find you," Bobby encouraged.

Dean stumbled through the underbrush, ferns and moss making him stumble. He stepped out onto the mowed shoulder of the road, cringing as a loud semi-truck blew past him. He held his phone tightly in his hand.

He looked up, sensing something tall and leery over him. It was a sign. His jaw dropped as he read the words.

"Bobby," Dean mumbled. "I'm standing in Naches, Washington."

Bobby felt his heart skip a beat.

"Bobby, can you come and get me," Dean asked as he tried to keep his voice calm, firm.

Bobby swallowed the lump in his throat. "Not soon enough, you can't sit on the side of the road until we get there. That's a long drive. I've got someone near you, a hunter; I'll have them come get you. Sam and I will be there as soon as we can."

Dean didn't say anything. He wanted to be away from the woods. Their silence was bearing down on him. He glanced into the trees, shivering. "Can you stay on the phone until they get here?"

Bobby frowned at the fear in Dean's voice. He picked up another phone from the lineup. "Sure thing," he said. "I'll let them know where you are and be right back."

Dean stood shivering on the side of the road, the cool mist drifting past him. He could hear Bobby talking to someone, giving them Dean's location and cell number.

"Dean, I've got a hunter by the name of Patrick Dennis coming to pick you up," Bobby said when he got back on the phone. "He'll be there in an hour."

"Thanks Bobby," Dean mumbled into the phone, his voice shaking.

"Dean, why you're freshly back from…wherever you went… what do you remember," Bobby asked gently. He knew Dean was shaken up, hell, they all were; but they needed more clues to figure it out.

"I don't know Bobby," Dean said as he glanced behind him again into woods. "I could smell something incredibly sweet when I woke up, but I don't see anything here that would cause that kind of smell."

"Anything else," Bobby asked, his mind whirling into action.

"No."

"Alright, how are you feeling? You had hypothermia and exposure last time you were gone this long," Bobby said. "Anything we need to be worried about?"

"A little cold," Dean admitted with a little hesitation. "But it's misty here."

"Anything else," Bobby asked.

"Bruised a bit, probably from being pulled against the handcuffs when I got taken," Dean said staring down at his bruised arm. "Feet hurt too."

"Yeah, I figured as much. From the amount of pressure that was on your arm, I was worried you'd wake up somewhere with it dislocated," Bobby admitted.

They spoke about everything from ammo to the best places in the continental US to get peanut butter pie before a pickup pulled up next to the spot were Dean was sitting, his back to the woods. Dean shoved his phone into his pocket and climbed in. The man next to him was probably his dad's age, with red hair and a scraggly beard.

"Dean Winchester," the man said with a low whistle. "Never thought I'd see a Winchester again."

"You know me," Dean asked.

"I worked with your dad a few times over the years, heard about him passing too," the man said with a nod. "He hated Washington, never stopped bitching about the salt damage to the underside of his truck."

Dean laughed tiredly. "Sounds like him."

They road in silence for miles; the warmth of the truck lulling Dean into nodding off only to jerk awake every few minutes.

"You can sleep," Patrick said. "I'll keep an eye on you."

Dean snorted and shook his head. "I just don't want to fall asleep and wake up in another ditch somewhere."

"You won't if I can help it," Patrick said. "I've got a few things to try out, Bobby told me about what's happening."

They drove through the small town and followed a dirt road through an orchard. Dean woke, startled, when Patrick cut off the engine. "Head on in, I've got a spare bedroom you can use."

Dean stumbled tiredly up the steps, his feet burning and aching in his boots. He felt a warm breeze suddenly blow past him, the same sweet aroma filling the air. He felt himself panic. "Patrick!"

Dean's hand touched the doorknob just as his vision turned white. He felt the world tilt on its axis just as a pair of hands grabbed him. Then, there was nothing.

**Naches, Washington**

Bobby stood in the doorway of Patrick's spare bedroom. The lamp on the bedside table illuminated the older brother's face, pale against the dark green pillow. Patrick had obviously tried everything he could think of to keep the boy in the house, heck, he'd settle for keeping him on the same coast.

The bed had been pulled to the middle of the room, a heavy layer of salt scattered onto the floor. Dean's legs and arms had been cuffed to the iron frame bed, a layer of quilts stacked on him. Patrick had drawn what looked like every protective and warding sigil he could think of onto the walls. The air was heavy with burnt herbs. Patrick wasn't taking any chances on having to tell Bobby Singer that he had let Dean get taken from under his very nose. Everyone knew how much those boys meant to him. He liked breathing too much to risk going toe to toe with Bobby.

"He looks exhausted," Bobby frowned.

"The only thing he's done since he got here is breath," Patrick said from the other room. "I thought Sam was coming with you."

"Well, given that Dean keeps popping up all over the place, we figured one of us had better stay put and be a little more centrally located to the continent," Bobby explained. "In case he decides to go to Florida all of a sudden, Sam will be a few hours closer than me."

"Probably a good idea," Patrick stated.

"So what happened," Bobby asked, impatient to get more information.

"He was almost inside the house when it happened. I was pulled some gear out of the truck when I saw him flicker, just like you had described when we talking. I dropped the bag and ran for him, grabbed him just as he started to flicker again. He dropped like a stone, but he stayed put," Patrick explained. "Wish I could say I knew what happened, but…I don't."

"He said anything since?"

"Not a peep. Didn't even flinch when I pulled his boots off…speaking of which…I wasn't too sure if you had seen this, but you ought to check it out."

Bobby followed Patrick into the bedroom, the salt crunching under his feet. He watched as Patrick kneeled and began to unwrap the gauze he had wrapped around Dean's feet. He used a small flashlight to illuminate Dean's foot.

Bobby frowned. "What the hell caused that?"

The Dean's foot was raw, blistered in some areas. Bobby gently touched Dean's foot; God, it looked like raw hamburger. How had Dean even managed to walk on it?

"I'm guessing the other one is just as bad," Bobby said with a sigh.

"Yeah," Patrick said. "I washed them with salt and holy water, but other than washing them out it had no effect."

Bobby didn't say anything.

"Any clue what it is," Patrick asked.

"Nope," Bobby snapped. "Not a damn one. But we're going to start ruling crap out."

"We?"

"Yeah, you own me one anyhow. You've already got him trussed up, might as well take the opportunity. I know Sam would want to be here…but we've got to figure this out now and Sam might hold back," Bobby said. He hated to think of keeping Sam in the dark, but he couldn't risk Dean flickering into nothingness again.

Patrick nodded silently and went to get his bag.

"You want to do an exorcism first," Patrick asked. "See if there's something in there with him?"

"Might as well," Bobby said with a flinch. Over the years, he had awoken from more than one nightmare of performing an exorcism on one of his boys. He hated the thought of even trying.

They stood on either side of Dean, rosaries and books in hand. They spoke in perfect synch, the Latin words filling the room. Bobby felt an icy grip in his chest as he stared down at Dean; he knew the words by heart, only holding the book from habit. Dean didn't even flinch, much less expel a demon.

Patrick and Bobby finally tossed their books onto the table and stared at each other, their minds trying to think of something else.

"Get me holy water and silver," Bobby said with a deep set frown. "Might as well rule out the most obvious selection."

Over the next hour, they sprinkled Dean with holy water and salt, burned incense, and nicked him with silver, brass, and iron. Nothing made him stir. It was eerie to watch him, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only movement coming from his body.

Bobby stood next to Dean and examined his bruised arm. He looked up at Dean's face, not a flinch, not a murmur, nothing. It was like his body had been left behind and his mind taken. He frowned at the thought. He lifted one of Dean's eye lids; the pupil was completely blown and unmoving. "Balls."

"Patrick, get your ass in here!"

"What's wrong?"

"I think we're looking at an empty Dean meat suit. Get everything together for a summoning."

"What are we summoning," Patrick asked cautiously. There was no way he was letting Bobby Singer call a demon or anything else into his house.

"Dean," Bobby said with a grunt as the gestured at Dean. "He's not in there."

"Sure it's not just a concussion or something," Patrick asked as he stared down at Dean.

"He's as vacant as a Detroit motel," Bobby snapped. "We got work to do."

Over the next hour, Patrick and Bobby measured, mixed, and combined the items needed to bring Dean's spirit back to the body on the bed. "Least he ain't dead this time," Bobby grumbled, worried. "Just not in there."

"Bobby, are you suggesting Dean's having an out body experience," Patrick asked as Bobby tossed the lit match into the bowl, a plume of green smoke puffing out of the bowl.

"Do I look like I know," Bobby snapped. "I'm just going on my gut here. You got a better explanation for his empty carcass, be my guest. One minute his body is disappearing and the next it's his goddamn mind."

They watched as Dean suddenly arched off the bed, his arms and legs pulling tautly against the metal cuffs. A cry filled with disappointment and longing filled the air, the very sound of it worried Bobby. Where ever Dean had been, he obviously didn't want to be brought back from it. A sweet aroma filled the room and was gone so quickly that Bobby wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it.

Bobby peeled one of Dean's eyes open, the vibrant green filled with winsome yearning. It was probably the only time Bobby had ever seen the expression on the man, without it involving a woman or a bottle.

"Dean, son, you with us?"

Dean stared past him, seeing something only he could.

"Dean, where the hell you been, kid?"

"Aren't they beautiful," Dean asked softly, his eyes were tracking something above the bed. A small smile danced over Dean's face before his eyes rolled back in his head.

Bobby sighed and looked up at Patrick. "I'm too old for this crap."

"You and me both," Patrick said as he pulled a bottle of bourbon from the bag. "Let's go call Sam."

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Sam tripped over his own feet when the phone rang; his pacing had been wearing a hole in the faded carpet in Bobby's study for the past several hours. "Bobby! Do you have him?"

"I've got him, Sam."

"How is—"

"He's alright, barely talking but okay. Few bumps, bruises….some painfully sore feet. Nothing we can't fix."

"Did Patrick have any useful information?"

"You might could say that. We'll talk when I get back with him."

Sam set the phone back on the receiver with a sigh of relief. Dean was safe. For now.

**Alright my fellow adventurers! Any idea?! Any tortuous moments you want? **

**I'm digging this story, you have NO idea! Do you're literary duty and leave a review, if you wouldn't mind. **

**Please keep in mind, that even guests can leave reviews, but come on…really, just sign up for an account. They're free. I can respond to your reviews with thank you messages, you can keep track of favorite stories, authors, and who knows…maybe you'll be inspired to give us something to read in return! **


	4. Home Bound

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but I do love to borrow and play rough! **

**Author's Note: THANK YOU to all you reviewers out there, I try to respond to each review, but let me say again to the nameless, faceless guests that I appreciate every review! They make my day, over and over again, when I see them! **

**I love that people are stumped and I'm tickled that people are guessing! **** Poor Dean…**

**MANY APOLOGOIES for the majorly horrendous, poorly timed week that I dropped off of planet Earth. I had a wedding and potential funeral up in upstate New York and had NO INTERNET access! AUGH!**

**So I wrote on the drive home, whilst hopped up on anti-carsickness meds…a quadruple dose got two chapters done. Anyone got an extra kidney now?**

**WinJennster, thanks for being my lifeline to the world this past week…I only had reception if I leaned on one foot towards the kitchen door or while hanging at the VFW bar looking for hunters. **

**Alright adventurers, LET'S DO THIS EVIL THING! Bwaahahahahaaha**

Bobby pulled off the interstate and turned the car towards Sioux Falls. He glanced in the rearview mirror at Dean, who was unusually quiet. Bobby had insisted on ice packs for Dean's aching legs and feet, pulling over every hundred miles to get a new bag of ice and to check the many bruises that laced the man's arm. Ten minutes on, twenty minutes off; Dean seemed so distracted that Bobby had to keep reminding Dean to move the ice to avoid potential nerve damage.

It had been a long and painfully quiet trip from Washington, Dean had barely said a word since Patrick had helped get him into Bobby's car. Dean hadn't looked up when the car had left the interstate; Bobby wasn't even sure how aware Dean really was.

"Dean, you alright back there?"

Dean nodded slowly.

"You know what day it is?"

Dean nodded. He had checked Patrick's calendar before Bobby had loaded him into the car. Somehow, he felt cheated. The calendars and clocks were messing with him.

"You know where we are?"

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded.

"You lose your ability to talk?"

Dean shook his head, refusing to meet Bobby's gaze in the rearview mirror.

Bobby pulled the car onto the shoulder and killed the engine. "Dean, you know that if you show up like this—mute and just nodding—Sam's gonna have a field day of worry. You wanna talk about whatever's on your mind, son?"

Dean looked hesitant. "What the hell is going on, Bobby? I don't want to keep disappearing… and I don't want Sam crawling up my ass the second we get home."

Bobby nodded. Dean hated to be worried over, hated being under anyone's watchful eye. It was going to be even worse now that Dean was actually scared of what was happening to him. Bobby knew Dean would react badly to Sam's mother hen ways. He had always been that way.

"I don't know yet what's taking you, or why. But we're going to buckle down and figure it out, which is why we need to get back to Sam as soon as possible. He might have figured something out by the time we get there."

Dean nodded again; Bobby could see the traces of hidden fear in his eyes. He cranked the engine and pulled back onto the road.

Dean leaned his head against the window, shivering from the ice on his legs. The ice made him miserably cold; but without it, his legs were incredibly painful. He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, he was so tired. He knew he had slept most of the trip but it seemed as though no amount of sleep made a dent in his exhaustion. He just wanted to crash on the couch but knew he'd be lucky to get past Sam without having a full on interrogation.

Dean woke up with a start when Bobby climbed out of the car and slammed his door. He ran a hand over his stubbly face; he was over it, whatever it was, that was snatching him up from his life. Dean watched as Sam sprinted to the car, yanking the door open and gazing in at his brother.

"Dean, you okay?"

Dean dropped the bags of ice onto the floor of the car and used his arms to pull himself to the door; wincing at the deep ache in his arm and the more troublesome pain in his legs and feet.

"Get your bags, Sammy, I want us to be on the road soon."

Sam's jaw dropped as he glanced at Bobby. "Dean—"

"Hey! Whatever this is, we can sort it out while we keep hunting. Bobby can call us if he finds anything," Dean said as he glared from Sam to Bobby, daring them to argue with him.

"Dean," Bobby interjected. "You need—"

"No! What I need is—"

Dean's words turned into a hiss of pain as his feet touched the ground. He slapped Sam's hands away and forced himself to stand. Bobby shook his head in frustration, knowing what was going to happen.

As soon as Dean let go of the car and took a step on his own, he went down hard. Bobby put a hand on Sam's chest to stop him from moving to help his brother.

Dean needed to find his own limit; if he didn't, he would fight them the entire time.

Dean laid on the ground, his teeth clenched in pain and eye pricked with unshed tears.

"I want to find whatever sonuvabitch is responsible for this and gut them slowly," Dean ground out through gritted teeth.

Bobby and Sam looked at each other, they both knew how Dean was going to get into the house and he wasn't going to like it.

With a nod to Bobby, Sam silently leaned down and scooped his brother up and carried him towards the house.

"Sam! Put me down!"

Dean fought for Sam to let him walk, but Sam turned a deaf ear and refused to stop. Within seconds, he had Dean through the front door and dropped him unceremoniously onto the couch.

Bobby had trailed behind, Dean's boots in his hands, listening to the ranting and raving from the older boy. He knew Dean was trying to cover up his panic and fear with harsh words, it was the way Dean had always done it.

But Dean's attitude wasn't enough to keep Sam back.

Sam silently placed a few ice packs on Dean's legs and feet before handing Dean a bottle of pain killers. As Dean fought to open the bottle, Sam took the chance to check out the bruises that laced up his arm. He spent the following hour prodding Dean for information, although Dean had no new information to give them. Sam was determined to keep Dean grounded. If that meant Dean would get annoyed at Sam, so be it.

It wasn't too bad until Dean wanted a shower.

"You're not going in there with me, Mr. Pantene Pro V, so you can stop right there," Dean snapped, trying to push Sam back from the bathroom door.

"You're not going in there alone either," Sam argued, his arms folded over his chest. "Every time you've been body snatched, you were by yourself, even if it was just for a second."

They were squared off at the bathroom door and Bobby could feel the waves of anxiety rolling of off Sam. He looked like he hadn't slept, even though Bobby had pressured him to get some sleep while he and Dean had been on the road.

Bobby stepped in with a solution. "Dean, you shower and sing the entire time so Sam and I can hear you. Sam, you stay outside the door and if Dean calls out for you or stops singing, take that as your cue to jump in."

"Bobby," Dean whined. "If I have to have a shower chaperone, can't you find me a woman, at least?"

Bobby almost smiled at that. "No such luck. You so much as bellow out the wrong chord and Sam will take that door off at the hinge. No messing around in there. You get in, scrub down, and get your ass back out here and where we can both see you."

Dean glared at Bobby. "Trust me; you'll be lucky if I can even stand long enough to wash anything."

Bobby pointed to the bathroom. "Sam, put that old stepstool in the tub so your brother can sit down to shower."

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but Bobby saved him the embarrassment of needing the chair and the pain of choosing to not use it. "You've been in the back of my car long enough that you've got a real funk on you. And who knows what the hell you've got on you from wherever the hell you've been."

Dean trudged into the bathroom on tiptoe, as though the floor were covered with broken glass.

Sam groaned when Dean started singing, "Highway to Hell". It was practically a goddamn soundtrack for their lives and he hated every single word of it, much less when Dean was going to sing it for twenty minutes straight.

Sam leaned heavily on the low table that sat across from the bathroom door, his normally good posture gone. He was exhausted with worry. He could hear Bobby downstairs, on the phone again. It seemed like the man had a never ending data plan and a never ending list of return calls to make.

Sam ran his bare feet along the rug, the tips of his toes brushing lightly against the rough weave. He closed his eyes and listened to Dean through the door. He could hear the water flowing though the pipes, which rattled inside the wall. Sam's ears pricked as Dean's voice faltered.

"Dean," Sam called out, testing. No answer.

Sam slid from his perch on the table, his feet sliding on the worn rug, unbalancing him. With his arms reeling to catch himself, he went down hard. He groaned, flat on his back, before he quickly rolled onto his feet and moved to the bathroom door. "Dean!"

No answer.

Sam tried the door handle. "Goddamn it, Dean! Told you to leave it unlocked!"

The door smacked into the wall loudly as it swung open with the force of Sam's kick behind it. He didn't bother to worry about the wall or the door; making sure Dean was still where he was supposed to be, that was his only concern.

"Sam! What the hell, man! Get out!"

Dean glared at him from around the shower curtain.

"You have to keep singing, Dean. I thought you were gone again! I had to check," Sam spat out in relief. He closed the bathroom door and resumed his stance against the table.

Sam knew Bobby hadn't turned up an answer yet, but he was curious what Patrick Dennis had said to him. Bobby had been evasive when Sam had first asked him what had happened in Washington. He was biding his time to ask him again, hoping that it was Dean he hadn't wanted to talk in front of and not Sam. He knew that as much as Bobby wouldn't keep anything detrimental from him, he would hide something if he felt it wasn't relevant. Something had happened in Washington, and relevant or not, Sam wanted to know.

In a puff of steam Dean strode out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, walking on obviously painful feet.

Sam scrutinized his older brother's appearance. "You look smaller."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Height jokes, Sammy? Well, you look like a friggin sasquatch. There, now we're even. Where is my bag?"

Sam pointed across the hallway. "On the bed. And I mean you look like you're losing weight; in fact, when I picked you up, you seemed lighter."

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, how many meals have I missed with my sudden disappearances? Speaking of which, I'm starved. Hope Bobby has something in the fridge."

"Dinner's on the stove," Sam called out as he waited to follow Dean down the stairs. He knew he was risking a smack from his brother by hovering, but there was no way he wanted to go through another night of wondering where his brother was.

Bobby and Sam watched as Dean shoveled spaghetti into his mouth; Sam sat across from him while Bobby stood in the doorway. Neither one wanted to take their eyes off the man. The mileage was beginning to take its toll on all of them.

"We need to figure out sleeping arrangements," Sam said hesitantly.

"I already figured I'd be on the couch," Dean said off handedly. "You and Bobby switching off during the night."

"Probably the best we can do for now," Bobby grumbled. "We've got to figure out what we're missing and nip this thing in the bud."

Dean nodded vigorously as he shoveled in another mouthful.

"Dean, slow down," Sam said. "You've gonna make yourself sick."

Dean shook his head, refusing to listen to his brother.

"Fine, you're going to make me sick, alright? Slow down, that's disgusting," Sam said with a sigh of defeat.

Dean glared and spoke around the mouthful of food. "I'm starving, Sam. And if I go 'poof' again there goes my chance to eat."

"Maybe you should keep a granola bar in your pocket," Sam remarked innocently. "You know, for next time."

"Granola bars? Look man, I'm not some hippie food pack mule, so you can stop right there," Dean said defiantly. "If we can find a way to…I don't know…freeze dry a hamburger or something, maybe."

"A space burger? That's so gross," Sam said as he pushed his own plate full of spaghetti away in disgust.

"How about a beer then," Dean asked hopefully.

"We're out," Bobby interjected. "I'd offer milk but the gallon went bad. Had to dump it. You can have water or juice."

"Juice? Why? Am I going to preschool when dinner is over? Water is fine….Juice, geez, like being body snatched isn't bad enough."

"Dean, there is nothing wrong with juice," Sam argued. "It's good for –"

"If you boys are done trying to start a fight," Bobby interjected. "I'm going up for some shut eye. Keep it down, unless something happens. Watch the phones, we might get lucky and get some information."

Under Sam's watchful eye, Dean drifted to the couch, intent on finding something useful thru research. He was flipping through his second volume when he caught Sam staring at him over the top of his own book. Dean ignored him.

Sam sat at Bobby's desk unable to concentrate on the book in his hands. The more he stared at his brother, the more apparent Dean's weight loss was.

"Dean," Sam finally said, breaking the silence.

"What," Dean asked gruffly, not looking up from his book.

"You sure you don't remember anything," Sam asked curiously. "Anything at all?"

"How many times I gotta tell you, Sammy, I don't remember anything," Dean mumbled aloud without looking up. "Just that crazy sweet smell."

Sam frowned and glanced back down at the book in his hand. He went back to reading the details of dream root, the very one he and Dean had used years ago. Sam briefly wondered if he could use it to break into Dean's subconscious while he was sleeping; hoping to find a helpful clue that Dean just couldn't remember. He tossed the thought aside when he checked Bobby's cupboard and found the jar empty. Hell, even if the jar had been filled there was no guarantee it would work like he wanted it to.

Sam sighed in frustration, rubbing his tired eyes. He needed a break, hell, they all did.

But he knew that as a Winchester, things would only get worse before they would get better.

**Alrighty then…if you can find it in your glorious hearts to crank out a review, I would love some feedback. Favorite parts? Want to see more of someone? Any ideas what they're dealing with yet? Come on people, DEAN NEARLY CRIED UP THERE! Wow…still shocked over that myself.**

**Also, I'm officially home again. Sleepers have been checked. Fridge has been pilfered. Know what that means?!**

**More writing! YAY!**


	5. A Tough Decision

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to these characters, except the plot line. Also, I have a bag of marshmallows I'm willing to share. **

**Author's Notes: Winjennster, thanks for pre-reading this and telling me about the mistakes; hopefully I found them all. If not, feel free to drive down and give me the bitch face!**

**Also, the addition of the Sam whumping is a gift for Lucydolly22 since she loves a whumpy Sam. More to come! **

**Also, does anyone have more guesses? I'm going to start leaving more clues as we go…think old school European…Please leave a review as well!**

It was late or rather extremely early in the morning when Bobby crept downstairs, his knees aching from years of unforgiving work. He found Dean snoring slack jawed on the couch while Sam sat at the desk, his feet propped up on the desk and a coffee mug in his hand.

"Any more of that in the pot," Bobby asked, startling Sam out of his tiring stare. Dean had barely moved during the night, apparently too exhausted to even roll over into a more comfortable position.

"Uh…yeah," Sam said with a yawn. "Should be a cup or two left."

Bobby settled into the armchair near the couch and pulled a book from the stack. "Guessing you figured the handcuffs weren't worth it?"

Sam shook his head silently before deciding to lure Bobby into the conversation he needed to have with him. "They obviously can't keep him from disappearing and they'll just increase his changes for getting hurt... I noticed he's got bruises on all four extremities now."

Bobby kicked himself. Of course Sam would notice the extra bruises. He hadn't gotten around to divulging all the details from Washington yet and considering Sam's protectiveness over Dean, he might not.

"Patrick used a full set of restraints on him. Not sure if that actually kept him grounded or if whatever it was just didn't want to take him at the time. Either way he stayed put."

Sam nodded before saying, "I did tie some bells to him."

Bobby choked on his coffee and looked up at Sam in surprise. "You did what?"

"Remember how when we were kids, you took us fishing? Only you didn't use those bobbers, you had a bell tied to the end of the pole? Well, same principle. He starts levitating or thrashing, we'll hear it."

Bobby nodded his understanding. "A Dean theft alarm, sounds like something we should have started using years ago. Where did you find a bell in this mess?"

Sam smiled and walked over to Dean, moving the lightweight blanket to reveal a small animal collar, pink with white bells, around Dean's wrist. "I'm guessing it's a cat collar, based on its size. Found it in the back of a kitchen drawer."

"Can't remember the last time I had a cat. But anyhow, not surprised, you can find near about anything around here if you look hard enough. How the hell did you get it on him?"

Sam pointed to his busted lip.

Bobby snorted. "The usual way."

They sat and flipped through page after dusty page, Bobby occasionally relying on multiple volumes in order to cross reference possibilities.

"You have any ideas yet," Sam asked as he dropped his own book back onto the pile with a loud thud. He glanced towards Dean, hoping the sound had elicited a response, but Dean kept on sleeping.

"I'm thinking it's a curse of some kind maybe. Or something else using magic," Bobby said as he exchanged his own book for another. "I think we can safely rule out vampires, werewolves, shifters, and demons."

"Why are you crossing demons off the list of possibilities? Goodness knows we've pissed off enough of them," Sam stated, his eyes closely watching Bobby. This was the conversation he had been waiting for.

Bobby didn't answer him; he just turned another page as he took a sip of his black coffee.

Sam scowled when he realized Bobby was ignoring him. "Bobby! Why are you ruling out demons?"

"Hush, Sam," Bobby said with a glance towards Dean. He motioned for Sam to follow him to the kitchen. Sam stood in the doorway, where he could still keep an eye on Dean.

"I want to know why you're ruling demons out."

Bobby sighed; kicking himself for ditching the hours of sleep he could be getting. Instead, he'd spend the next hour getting his ass chewed by Sam.

"Because we—Patrick and I—ruled out possession already," Bobby said as he glanced past Sam to Dean. Bobby stood silently, watching Sam turn the information over in his head.

"You tried to perform an exorcism," Sam spat angrily. "On Dean?"

"Yep," Bobby said casually. "Seemed like as good a place to start as any."

"And?"

"And he wasn't possessed, Sam. We read the rites, nothing happened, so I say we can rule it out. He was unconscious the entire time, never even flinched."

Sam swallowed a lump of anger and tried to hold back as he hissed though gritted teeth. "Did you consider what it could have done to Dean; to have him wake up, restrained, in an unfamiliar place, with you reading the exorcise rites over him!? He could have freaked out! Or worse— flipped some switch on his memory bank— his time in Hell maybe!"

Bobby grimaced at the thought. Honestly, he hadn't thought of that. His plan had been to help Dean out of whatever mess he was in now. Not the mess he had been in years ago.

"Did you even consider what you would have down if he **had** been possessed," Sam whispered, trying to keep his voice down.

"Sure," Bobby said with a shrug. "We would have finished the exorcism."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Fine, Bobby. I get it, you wanted to use his down time to try and figure it out….I'm just not happy that I'm finding out about it now….a day later!"

Bobby scrutinized Sam. "What's got your panties in such a twist? I figured you'd be right at the forefront of getting this figured out."

"I am," Sam said defensively, his voice rising slightly.

"So then," Bobby asked. "You wanna cut to the chase and tell me what's gotten up your ass? Or are we gonna waste all night with me trying to pussyfoot around your feelings?"

Sam huffed and turned on his heel, plopping himself back into his chair. Bobby eased back into his own armchair and returned to flipping pages, pointedly not looking at Sam. If Sam wanted to have a mood, Bobby would let him; for a little while anyhow, until Bobby decided to put his foot down in order to avoid the inevitable fight it would cause.

It took less time than Bobby thought for Sam's silence to break.

"I should have been there," Sam said quietly. His eyes were locked onto Dean's sprawling form on the couch. "What if he HAD been possessed? What if I couldn't have gotten there before—"

"Sam, if I had found anything serious, I would have called you sooner than I did," Bobby interjected. "You know that, son."

"I know, Bobby," Sam said, dropping his head down. "But…I should have been there."

"Sam, if he goes poof again, you're taking the next trip. No doubt about that. I'll be staying here and researching while you chase his levitating ass."

Sam laughed and turned another page, a tired smile on his face.

They sat for another hour, reading and occasionally comparing notes. The sun slowly started to brighten the room as it rose. Dean rolled over with a groan and nearly died of embarrassment when he heard the bells ringing around his wrist.

"Dean," Sam called out suddenly, startled out of his unintended nap by the sound of the bells; his book hitting the floor with a loud thud as it slipped through his fingers.

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean snapped. "Just rolling over, not running away."

Sam started to settle back into his chair when Bobby motioned for him to get up. "Time for you to hit the hay."

"Bobby, I'll be fine down—"

"Boy, this ain't no democracy. When I say go to bed, I mean it. You're going to be behind the wheel if Dean flies the coop; so you need to get some decent shut eye."

Sam and Bobby locked eyes across the room. Dean watched from his place on the couch, knowing without a doubt that Bobby would win the argument.

As Sam bit back a yawn, Bobby motioned to the stairs. "Like I said."

"Fine, I heard you before. Wake me if—"

"We know, if anything happens I'll yell for you," Bobby said, feigning annoyance.

Dean watched as Sam slowly made his way up the stairs. As soon as he was out of sight, Dean yanked the cat collar from his wrist. "Sometimes, Sam's creativity worries me."

Bobby chuckled. "You want to help me start looking for a way to keep you here?"

Dean shook his head. "Bathroom first, then breakfast."

Bobby was flipping pancakes when Dean hobbled into the kitchen. They said nothing as they dug into breakfast, each man deep in their own thoughts.

"Dean, how you taking all this," Bobby asked gently after several minutes of silence. Dean hadn't said much about his sudden disappearances and Bobby was getting worried that he was sitting on some helpful, but damning information.

Dean shrugged as he shoved another forkful of pancake into his mouth. "I'm tired of it," Dean mumbled around the food. "Want to get back to work. This is a pain in the ass."

Bobby nodded. "So what do we know?"

Dean snorted derisively. "Not anything helpful. I get zapped from where I am to someplace else. I lose hours or days. There's a weird smell and my feet hurt like hell."

"Sound like anything to you?"

"Other than a bad case of me sleep walking, while dousing myself with perfume; not anything I've been able to come up with," Dean said as he sipped his coffee.

"Doesn't sound very likely," Bobby chuckled. "You rarely even roll over in your sleep, much less walk a thousand miles."

"That's just creepy," Dean said. "Been watching me sleep, Bobby?"

Bobby huffed and adjusted his cap. "Well, if you boys could keep out of trouble for more than five minutes, maybe this old man could get some decent shut eye and not need to keep one eye on each of you at all times."

Dean chuckled before getting quiet; his demeanor suddenly serious. "Worse case, what is this?"

"Not a clue. But I know of a few ways we can start ruling things out."

"Let's get started then."

Bobby hesitated. "Dean, maybe we should wait for Sam. He might want to be there when we start this."

"Bobby, he nearly cried into his girly locks over the thought of you performing the exorcise rites over me…you really think he's going to be helpful while we sort through possibilities? Let's just get this done."

Bobby stared at Dean. "You heard me and Sam talking about the exorcism?"

Dean shrugged sheepishly, barely making eye contact. "Not a big deal, Bobby. You had to rule it out. Now, let's get this done, okay?"

Bobby nodded slowly. He didn't want to choose sides, but Dean was right. They needed to start working their way through the list.

"Fine," Bobby said as he grabbed a wooden box from the countertop. "Panic room or garage?"

"What are we ruling out," Dean asked as he eyed the box.

"Curses, hexes, the usual run of witchcraft. Won't be quick either."

"How are we going to do that?"

Bobby eyed at the hesitant young man. "Sam already checked through the Impala and your duffel bag. No hex bags to be found, but there are some other ways we can check."

"Like how," Dean asked, folding his arms over his chest, his stance straight and stiff.

Bobby stared at Dean. "You got a sudden inclination to avoid getting this done?"

Dean shook his head. "Of course not, Bobby, just…"

"Just what?"

"I don't know…maybe," Dean said, avoiding Bobby's gaze.

Bobby scrutinized Dean from across the room before making his decision. "We need to wait for Sam."

"No! I don't want him hovering around while we do this later. Besides, maybe we'll get lucky and figure it out."

"So like I said, garage or panic room?"

"Garage, I guess."

"Think you can walk out there? Your feet are in pretty bad shape."

"I can handle it."

They trudged across the muddy yard without talking; Dean moving slowly and with more care than usual. Bobby dropped a step back and took notice of the weight loss Sam had been talking about. He'd have to buckle down and figure this out soon.

Once they were in the garage, Bobby pointed to a small chair. "Might as well grab a spot to sit. Like I said, this could take a little while."

Dean watched as Bobby unpacked herbs, books, and some odds and ends from the box.

"Bobby, other than finding a hex bag, how do you check for hexes?"

"Curses and hexes leave marks most of the time. Might look like a burn or a scar, a brand, or a tattoo; even an unusual freckle that you didn't have before. Think of it like a signature, except that it gives the type of curse or hex. Makes it possible to hone in on the specifics."

"So you're looking for freckles and scars," Dean mumbled. "Like I didn't already have enough of those. Great."

Dean watched as Bobby used chalk to draw sigils on the floor surrounding him. After lighting some foul smelling incense, Bobby held up a book, old and worn from use. "We'll start with the easiest first. Just stay put and let me know if you notice anything."

Dean sat silently as Bobby read from the book; he didn't recognize the passage, but he could follow the Latin easy enough. He waited patiently until Bobby was done.

"Feel anything yet?"

"Nope," Dean said with a yawn.

Bobby frowned and started flipped through the pages; finally he began to read aloud again. Dean sat and listened. The words seemed to run together, the incense filling the room; as the garage began to warm up, Dean fought to keep his eyes open.

Three hours later, Bobby tossed his fifth book back into the box with a frustrated sigh. "Not a goddamn clue."

Dean opened his eyes, bloodshot from exhaustion and shrugged helplessly. "Not a curse then? Or a hex?"

"Not one I've seen before, if it even is one," Bobby said as he adjusted his cap. "Describe that smell you said you woke up to, back in Washington."

"It was sweet, the sweetest thing I've ever smelled. Like spun sugar or honey, but more intense," Dean explained.

Bobby fiddled with his cap again. "When Patrick and I got your spirit back into your body—"

"Wait! What do you mean, my spirit **back** into my body," Dean said loudly, surprised.

"Back in Washington, Patrick and I tried everything we could think of to sort out what was messing with you, but finally realized your body was just an empty meat suit. Maybe it was one of those out of body experiences; I don't know a better way to describe it. Either way, we summoned your spirit back to your body," Bobby explained. "The point is, when we got you back, you said 'they'. So whatever is it, there's more than one of them."

"Sonovabitch."

"Yep, and to be honest, by the sound of it, you didn't want to come back from wherever you were."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, a defensive look on his face; but Bobby held up his hand to silence him.

"I'm not saying you don't want to here, with us. I'm just saying that I've never known you to sound so full of…hell, I don't even know. You sounded like you were full of disappointment to be pulled back into your body."

Dean didn't know what to say. How do you defend something you didn't even know you did?

"Bobby…I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?! You didn't do anything wrong! The only reason I'm even telling you is cause it might help us figure this out." The expression on Dean's face, one of hurt and self-loathing, made Bobby shake his head in frustration. It was a forever hard line to walk, between revealing information that might be helpful and information that could only be harmful.

Dean slid from his chair, standing painfully before changing the subject. "What if it's a Jinn?"

Bobby thought about it and shook his head. "Unless it's a type we've never seen before. They like to take their victims for the long haul, drug them up with toxins and feed off them while the victims unconsciously dream their fantasy life. They don't let them go. Besides, you'd have died from the toxins already. Anyhow, just because we didn't have any luck with the books doesn't mean you're not carrying a hex mark. We'll have to look you over for one."

Dean nodded and headed for the door. "Can we wait a little while? I've gotta lay down for bit."

Bobby frowned but followed Dean. It wasn't like Dean to admit tiredness or anything short of 'I'm okay'; it even more unlike Dean that he didn't have a smartass remark about the inevitable strip search that lay ahead of him.

As Dean dropped onto the couch, Bobby headed for the coffee pot. He was pouring a cup when he heard a curious sound filling the room. He turned towards the sound and froze.

The room was in motion. Coffee cups hanging on hooks were swaying and clinking together, while silverware jumped in the bottom of the sink. The screen door opened and closed slowly, the squeaking joined by another faint sound, something light and airy and fluttering; something Bobby couldn't pinpoint. Bobby didn't dare move.

Everything moved in time, tapping out a rhythm that seemed hypnotic.

Movement in the doorway caught Bobby's eye, the coffee cup slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.

Dean was moving through the kitchen towards the backdoor, his movements rough and uncoordinated, as though he was a puppet on strings.

"Dean!"

Dean didn't respond to Bobby's shout, although Bobby could hear Sam already racing down the stairs. Dean's strange march across the kitchen continued towards the door. Sam raced into the kitchen, pausing momentarily as the unreal symphony of sounds met his ears. He faltered for a second before lunging at Dean.

Bobby watched, stunned.

The second Sam touched Dean, he felt himself being forcefully launched away from Dean. His feet left the floor and for a few seconds the world moved in slow motion as he was thrown backwards across the room. Sam slammed into the doorframe hard, his vision swimming as he tried to regain his footing.

Bobby jumped to lock the exterior door, hoping to block Dean's exit from the house. Dean's face was impassive, his eyes all but empty.

"Dean! Snap out of it!"

Recognition flooded Dean's face; he struggled to regain control of his body. Dean's eyes flicked this way and that, again tracking something only he could see. As he tried to regain control of his body, a searing pain enveloped him.

Dean fought against whatever it was that had him, tears of pain and fear streaming down his face as he was forced to reach towards the door, towards Bobby. "Bobby, move out of the way," Dean cried out, his voice once again sounding muffled and distant.

"Boy, I can't let you out that door," Bobby replied firmly as he bolted the door. "We've got you. You're not going anywhere, Dean. Just fight whatever's got hold of you."

"I don't want to hurt you too, Bobby," Dean sobbed as he tried to look back at Sam.

"I know it's not your doing," Bobby said. He knew he needed to do more; he needed to slow Dean's escape from the house. "Fight to regain control."

Sam watched from across the room, his vision swimming. Black dots danced in front of his eyes, making it hard for him to focus on anything in the room. The buzzing in his ears made it hard to hear the words coming out of Bobby's mouth. He needed to get to Dean. He needed to get back on his feet.

With a grunt and a groan, he pulled himself up using the doorframe as leverage, trying to keep ahold of his rolling stomach. "Dean…can you…can you see anything? What is it?"

Bobby could hear the slur in Sam's voice and kicked himself. Sam was probably concussed. Just the little complication they needed. Only the Winchesters could complicate an already difficult case with medical maladies. He just hoped it was going to be the kind of concussion that they could deal with at home. He wouldn't even be able to try to keep Dean grounded, much less watch the phones if he flew the coop, if he had to drag Sam to the emergency room. Worse, Sam would know that as well.

"Bobby! Stop him," Sam cried out as he watched Dean reached past Bobby and pull hard on the door handle.

Bobby didn't know what to do. Dean was still in constant motion, moving in small jerky motions, seemingly unable to control himself. And Sam, well, it was obvious that Bobby would end up like Sam if he tried to grab Dean. Something wanted Dean badly.

He stood firmly against the door, pressing all of his weight back against it. Dean pulled the door handle with more strength; far more strength than they both knew he truly had. The door shuddered in its frame.

"Bobby, please," Dean whispered, his voice cracking in emotion. "Let me go. If I go, the pain will stop."

Bobby caught the anguish and fear in Dean's green eyes.

"I can't, Dean."

"I'll pop back up somewhere. You know that! Please…let me out," Dean sobbed as the waves of pain increased. He had to go. He had to answer their call.

Bobby knew Dean was probably right but that didn't make the decision any easier. With a shaky sigh of emotion, he moved out of Dean's way and headed for Sam. At least he could help one of them.

As Dean yanked the door open and crossed the threshold, he was swallowed up by the morning light, his silhouette lingering for a second before he vanished in a brilliant flash. Instantly, all the chaotic motion and sound in the kitchen stopped, everything resuming its inanimate state; the sudden silence was deafening.

A sudden sound filled air. It sent a shiver racing down Bobby's spine; it was full of fear and disbelief.

It was Sam. Un-fallen tears of frustration glittered in his eyes as he gazed at the empty doorway.

He fought to find his voice before glaring hatefully at Bobby. "**_What did you do_?**"

**Please leave a review if you liked it. If you hated it or felt cheated, let me know! I aim to please!**

**Alright, so…how mad do you think Sam will really get over Bobby letting Dean go like that? I'm thinking he's probably going to be a little pissed off. Any thoughts were Dean will surface next?! I'm just writing this on the fly, people. Help me out! **


	6. Try This Trick and Spin It

**Disclaimer: I don't own the recognizable characters, obviously. Only the plot!**

**Author's Note: Thanks for tagging along on this weird adventure! I'm enjoying the company!**

**You already know how awesome you are but let me remind you, YOU'RE AWESOME! **

**Also, thanks to Winjennster for nailing down an actual season for this story. It fits nicely in Season Six, where the war is raging in heaven. Onward!**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Sam glowered at Bobby from the floor. "What did you do," he asked again, his voice was lower this time but somehow even more angry than before.

Bobby swallowed the hard lump in his throat. He knew that tone. It was the famous Winchester tone that surfaced when they felt betrayed by someone they trusted. And they had so few people to trust anymore. "He asked me to, Sam. He asked me to let him go."

"**But why would you**," Sam yelled, instantly grabbing his pounding head as the buzzing in his ears worsened; he couldn't see straight as his vision continued to swim. He slowly pulled himself up from the floor, clinging to the doorframe for support. He glanced down at the floor, seeing the blood he had left behind. He slowly touched the back of his head, hissing in pain as he gingerly felt the large, swelling lump. Bobby reached to help him; cringing when Sam angrily pushed his hands away.

Sam continued to cling to the doorframe, leaving bloody finger prints along the wood. His head pounded from his efforts to keep himself upright. He stepped slowly across the room, swaying heavily, in an effort to reach the backdoor. He had to know. He had to see that Dean was really gone. Bobby hovered a step away, hoping that if Sam went down, he would be able to catch him; hoping also that Sam would even let him near enough to do it.

Sam groaned and held a hand to the oozing lump on the back of his head. He refused to even acknowledge Bobby. The only person Sam wanted was gone. And it was Bobby's fault.

Sam slowly made his way to the door, lunging for the doorframe with his last step. The room was beginning to spin faster. He swallowed hard as the taste of bile rose to his mouth.

He shoved the screen door open and his unfocused eyes frantically searched the porch and yard for any sign of Dean. There was nothing. Not even a footprint in the dust on the porch.

Bobby watched as Sam slowly slid down the doorframe until he was nearly sprawled on the floor.

"Dean... I have to find him."

"Sam—"

"I have to find him!"

"We will, Sam. Calm—"

"Don't tell me to calm down! You let him go," Sam yelled out, his breaths coming in short pants. His whole body felt heavy. He pointlessly tried to swat the dark spots in his vision. "You let him go..."

"Sam, you need to calm down. Breathe," Bobby said as he kneeled next to Sam. "Take a breath, you're going to hyperventilate and that won't help anybody."

Sam struggled to breathe, anxiety rolling over him like waves in a stormy sea. His eyes were glazing over, his lips pursed as he tried to pull in a breath. "I need to find…how…how could you?"

"Sam, look at me," Bobby demanded, turning Sam's face towards him. He frowned at Sam's glassy eyes. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Sam uncoordinatedly tried to swat Bobby's hand away. "Leave me alone! You let him…"

Bobby grabbed Sam's jaw and forced him to look up at him. He held Sam's angst filled gaze as he said, "I know what I did, Sam. But right now, we need to worry about you. Stop being an ass and tell me how many fingers I'm holding up."

Sam tried to focus on the blurry image in front of him. "Seven. Now get out of my way, old man! I have to find Dean."

Bobby shook his head, he ignored Sam's harshness. Another reason to find Dean, he was the only one Sam would listen to. "You're not even close, considering I was only using one hand. You've got double vision to say the least. You know the drill: name, place, and date."

Sam burst out in hysterical laughter, his breathing becoming choppy. "You let him go…and you want me to lay here and recite bullshit for you?"

"Sam, humor me or I will drag your ass to the emergency room and we both know they'll keep you overnight for observation. Is that what you want? To waste even more time?"

Even concussed, Sam knew the right answer; it had been drilled into them over years of injury. He tried to shake his head but cringed as it made the pounding in his head worsen. "Sam Winchester."

"And?"

"We're at your house."

"Not good enough. Name the state and town," Bobby said with a huff. Winchesters, always trying to cut a corner to prove their invincibility.

"Sioux Falls….Dakota."

"North Dakota or South Dakota, Sam?"

"The lower one," Sam said confidently.

Bobby huffed in exasperation. "Date?"

Sam looked thoughtful, his eyes wandering across the room. "Ummm…."

"Stop trying to read the calendar, Sam. Besides, you've got double vision; it'd be a miracle if you could read the damn thing even if your nose was pressed to it."

Sam tried to roll his eyes, which only made his nausea worse. "Dean doesn't know the date either."

"And that's supposed to make your scrambled brains alright? Stay put while I get something to clean you up. Might need some stitches."

Sam rolled his head away from Bobby and stared out the door and across the porch to the Impala. "I need to go."

"Not a chance, kid," Bobby said with a sigh as he pulled open a kitchen drawer. "We have to wait til you're up to it and even then we have to know which direction to go in. We'll get a call, we have every time. This time won't be any different."

Sam stared up at Bobby, tears streaking down his face and into his hair. "You don't know that."

Bobby didn't say anything as he held a towel to Sam's bleeding head. Hell, he wanted this time to be like all the other times but how could he know? Dean could end up in some patch of unknown wilderness and die of exposure. He could wind up in the middle of a major highway and be run over by a church van filled with singing nuns. Who knew?

A phone started to ring somewhere in the house, making both of them jump. "Keep pressure on it. I'll be back in minute."

Bobby hurried to the other room and answered the phone; he stepped back into the room long enough to give Sam the 'it's not him' look. Sam laid there listening to Bobby talk to someone named Jane about a banshee in Montana before his eyes caught a glint of metal on the floor. He slowly rolled over and picked them up; he knew the second he touched them what they were, the Impala's keys. They must have fallen out of Dean's pocket on his forced march through the kitchen.

He needed to find Dean.

He paused to listen to Bobby in the next room, the sound of pages being flipped and Latin being recited caught his ears. Bobby was busy; too busy to help Sam. Too busy to help Dean. He would have to do this alone.

Sam gripped the keys tightly and willed the spots in his vision to go away. He slowly climbed to his feet, gripping the table as he tried to regain his balance. His head swam as the room began to spin again.

Only one thought resounded in his addled brain, find Dean.

Sam opened the screen door and slipped out as quietly as he could. He could still faintly hear Bobby explained the details of some ritual into his phone. Sam didn't care. He could find Dean on his own.

Sam stumbled across the yard, tripping on his own feet and falling hard onto his knees. The impact made his stomach roll. He glanced furtively back at the house, half expecting to see Bobby coming after him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't see Bobby. He pulled himself to his feet using the car for support. His brain pounded in his skull, threatening to explode with every movement he made.

He tried to yank the door open; it was locked. He squinted at the keys, trying to see which one he needed. The first one didn't even fit after a full two minutes of trying to get it into the key hole; the multiple scratches now surrounding the keyhole went unnoticed in his stupor.

He smiled triumphantly when the second key slid into the lock. With a groan, he slid behind the wheel. He fumbled with the ignition and finally the reluctant engine cranked for him.

"I'm coming Dean," he slurred to himself. His head swam as he shifted into gear, his vision blurring.

He gripped the steer wheel tightly and peered out the windshield, wondering briefly why everything was so blurry. Maybe he needed to clean the windshield. As the junkyard's exit came into view he gunned the engine and headed for the road.

As the car hit a pothole it sent a jolt through him, rattling his brain in his skull. He cried out and brought a hand to the back of his head. It came away red.

He stared at his hand in surprise before another bump made him look up quickly, his head swimming from the sudden motion. He yanked on the wheel and tried to find the junkyard's exit again. He couldn't see anything but black spots in his vision.

With a sudden and hard lurch, the car came to a halt, throwing him into the dash.

As the pain behind his eyes exploded, his vision gave out to darkness.

Bobby stood on the porch, shaking his head in disbelief. He hurried down the steps and towards the Impala, his heart pounding in his chest. "Sam!"

Bobby gave the car a quick glance as he rounded it; a slight frown crossed his face as he stared at the damage, nothing he couldn't fix luckily. He yanked the driver's side door open and stared in at Sam. Blood trickled from his forehead now, as well as continuing to ooze more slowly from the lump on the back of his head. "Sam?"

He was unconscious.

"Sam? Can you hear me?"

Bobby reached in and killed the engine. Sam didn't move.

Bobby sighed and debated over what to do. He could call an ambulance. He could haul Sam to the emergency room himself. Or he could lug him inside and wait it out. He had dealt with concussions before, on more than one occasion. It never got any easier to decide what call to make. Every concussion merited some level of medical care, but most hunters lived under the radar, out from under prying eyes and questions. He glanced at Sam's bloody face and mentally tallied up the numerous signs Sam had exhibited.

Aggression, confusion, slurring, dizziness, repetitive conversation, blurred and double vision, nausea…and then his blatantly poor decision that had resulted in him crashing the Impala into a pile of rusted out pickup trucks in the salvage yard; Bobby stopped counting with a sigh and pulled his phone from his pocket, hoping to God that Dr. Fisher was on call. He hated filling out hospital paperwork, but not nearly as much as he was going to hate telling Sam that he had dented the Impala.

**WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN **

It was warm. Not hot, not cold, not even humid. A faint breeze blew past him. He opened his eyes slowly. It was daytime, wherever he was.

The blue sky overhead had no clouds, but trees cut into his line of sight. He moved slowly, hoping to hear a road noise or anything that would give him a direction to start walking in.

He could hear nothing. No passing trucks. No emergency sirens. Not even a distant birdsong. Nothing.

He cautiously lifted his head and peered around. It was too perfect, the sun was too bright and the sky to blue. He was in a clearing; immense oak trees encircled the grassy meadow where he was laying. He took a minute to take stock of himself. His feet no longer hurt, in fact, nothing hurt. He looked at his arms, there were no traces left of the bruises that had encircled his wrists and laced to his elbows. Without even looking, he knew the ones on his ankles were also gone.

He felt himself beginning to panic and scrambled to pull his phone from his pocket. He stared at his phone in horror. No service. No signal. And only one bar of battery life left. It was utterly useless.

Wherever he was, he wasn't going to be able to call Bobby or Sam to come and get him.

He felt his heart pounding in his chest, his lungs burning as he tried to breath. His hands shook as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. He was going to have a full blown panic attack if he didn't stop.

"Snap out of it, Dean," he said aloud to himself. "Just have to wait it out."

He knew he had probably been dropped 'here' before, wherever it was, every time he had been snatched up. And who knew, maybe he had been aware each time and just forgot when he returned to real life…Either way, chances were he'd end up back on the side of a road eventually. He just had to keep calm and wait for whatever this was to be over.

He wracked his brain trying to figure out who or what could be taking him. Remembering what Bobby had told him about hexes and curses, he began frantically looking at his arms for any mark that he didn't recognize. With a cautious glance around the clearing, he yanked his shirt off and continued his search. Nothing.

He sighed deeply, his eyes closing for a second. He shook his head. This wasn't going well. With a quick prayer to whomever was still using the prayer channels, he slipped his boots and jeans off.

"Sure, just as I get naked, I'll end up getting zapped back to reality. Oval office maybe," Dean grumbled aloud as he flung his boxers onto the pile of discarded clothes. "Least I'll get a chance to tell the President I'm sick of the gas prices."

Dean continued his search for curse and hex marks. There were the usual array of scars and freckles, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. He pulled his clothes back on with a sigh. He was stumped. What was taking him? And why?

A breeze suddenly swept past him, a recognizable smell filling the air. It was sweet and sugary, like the most delicious pie in the universe had just been pulled out of the oven; only better somehow. As he pulled in another lungful of the mouth-watering aroma, he heard a noise nearby.

He glanced around for anything he could use as a weapon; a small branch lay nearby. He crawled towards it and wrapped his hand around it just as something stepped right in front of him.

White fabric brushed his knuckles, the faint print on the fabric making his heart skip a beat.

He glanced up slowly, his eyes taking in the unforgettable silhouette.

He stood slowly, tears pricking his eyes as he reached out to touch her blond hair.

"Mom?"

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Bobby stared out the doorway of the small room, wondering where Dean might be. He held a cup of coffee in his hand, more out of habit than anything. No one drank hospital coffee because they liked the flavor. They drank it because it was all part of the crappy experience, one that started with admission paperwork and pesky questions and ended with discharge paperwork.

He had already asked for Sam's discharge paperwork to be finalized. It had been the first thing he had asked for when the xrays confirmed that Sam's skull wasn't fractured.

Sam sat silently across the room on the bed. He had slowly gotten redressed, refusing Bobby's help. He was staring at his boots on the floor. They seemed so far away. He knew there was no way he was going to able to reach them without falling over. His head was still pounding.

He knew from listening to Bobby and the emergency staff that he had stitches, nearly a dozen on the back of his head from the kitchen doorframe and six near his temple from hitting the dash. He had been luck, they said. The car was moving so slowly and he had been so lax from his concussion that he had moved through the crash like a rag doll, the lack of tensing up had lessened his muscle strain. Regardless of how lucky they said he was, he was still sore. And angry.

Bobby sipped his coffee, refusing to acknowledge Sam's glare. He knew Sam was still out of it and wasn't ready to listen. He would deal with Sam's attitude later. He just wanted to get them out of the emergency room as quickly as possible. Luckily, Dr. Fisher had taken charge of Sam's case the second they had set foot into the hospital.

He watched the corridor, knowing that Sam's paperwork should be en route. He spotted Dr. Fisher down the hallway and nodded to him. Dr. Fisher hurried into the room and thrust a large envelope into his hands. "Prescriptions and discharge paperwork are in there. "

Bobby nodded his thanks.

"You sure you want to take him so soon? I'd feel better if he'd stay the full twenty four hours," the elderly man said with a glance at Sam.

"Can't," Bobby simply stated. "We've got something more pressing than your need to glance at him every hour."

The man chuckled. "It's called observation for a reason, Bobby. We don't open up everyone who comes in here with a concussion; only one percent, you know that. Be glad he didn't fracture that skull of his; we'd be having a standoff over his discharge if he had. Just follow my discharge orders and call me on my cell tonight and let me know he's doing alright. You promise to do that and I'll let you walk out of here without any trouble."

Bobby nodded and shook his outstretched hand. "Fine by me."

Sam slowly slid from the bed, closing his eyes as the room spun uncontrollably. He felt a hand steady him and guide him into a wheelchair. "Sorry, but you know the drill."

"Whatever," Sam mumbled as Bobby pushed him towards to door and out into the hallway. He glanced into every passing room, believing unrealistically that Dean could be in any one of them.

"Who's watching the phones," he asked, not really wanting to talk to Bobby right then but desperate for information.

"Nobody," Bobby huffed. "I've got both of our cell phones in my pocket but as for the land lines…we'll just have to check when we get home."

Sam said nothing. There was no point in telling Bobby how important the phones were right now, he already knew.

"I have to go find him," Sam said softly, more to himself than for Bobby's benefit.

"We will find him, Sam. But until your brain's done sloshing around in your skull, you're not driving or lifting anything heavier than a spoon," Bobby said as he pushed the wheelchair through the exit and into the parking lot. "Bear in mind, you get out of line again, I'll pump you full of morphine and break both your arms and legs and leave you on the hospital's doorstep with a fake suicide note pinned to your shirt. You wanna bet how long they'll keep your ass under observation for all that?"

Sam didn't say anything. The tone in Bobby's voice was enough to keep Sam from retorting.

"Should have never taken the time to help Jane out like that, knowing you were concussed," Bobby spat. He was seething with anger, more at himself than Sam. "Should have known you would attempt something stupid the second I took my eyes off you."

Bobby watched in amazement as Sam burst into tears. He instantly felt shame. Sam wasn't thinking straight, from the concussion and his panic over Dean, and he needed to cut Sam some slack.

"Sam, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at me, you dumbass," Bobby said gently. "Just...Listen to me. We'll get him back."

"How," Sam sniffled.

"How about we start with something a little old school?"

Sam looked up at Bobby, confusion on his face.

"We're going to start with a prayer."

Sam's confusion increased. Maybe Bobby was the one who had hit his head.

"Bobby, Cas already said that God is missing. No one's listening."

"Cas might be," Bobby said as he hefted Sam into the car. "Just cause heaven's having a little war right now, that doesn't mean he wouldn't like to take a little sabbatical and help us out."

"I've been trying, Bobby. Dean and I have both tried to get his attention for a while now. He's not listening," Sam said he fumbled with his seatbelt.

Bobby sighed. If Castiel hadn't answered Dean himself, there was no way he was going to listen to him or Sam.

"Maybe you're just not doing it right," Bobby mused as he pulled away from the hospital. "Might have to peak his interest is all."

**Okay, okay. I know. I'm going against my own grain here by recruiting Castiel. But let me ASSURE you, he's not being added as a way to "POOF!" Dean back into reality. I hate using all powerful characters, they make everything to friggin easy on the writer. So bearing that in mind, Castiel isn't going to save the day in a snap of his fingers. **

**Keep your eyes peeled. More clues and adventure coming down the pike. **

**We're about to lean heavily on the Germanic tones of this species. Better bake up some goodness, strap on a bell, and catch yourself a rooster!**

**Oh! Please leave a review! They make me write faster…and better! **


	7. Please Don't Feed the Winchesters

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural. If you're looking to sell off your own share, hit me up. **

**Author's Note: This story is progressing on its originally track; however, after a wee bit of mind blowing research, the ride is going to get bumpier for Dean. And darker…and probably even more whumpy, angsty, and hopefully shocking than before. Bwahahahahaa! **

**ALSO, so sorry for the horrendous delay. I've suddenly got relatives calling me at all hours scheduling vacations, layovers, and even moving in. Nothing like stressing yourself into a non-creative coma…**

**Anyhoo…**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Bobby stared out over the junkyard, but he wasn't seeing anything in front of him. Not the reflection of the sunset off the Impala's gleaming paint job. Not the shadows creeping across the yard as the day made its transition to night. He was staring into the distant, his mind wandering farther than his sight could ever take him; wondering where Dean might be.

It had been three days without any word of Dean.

The phones had been ringing off their hooks, not surprising given that Bobby had called, begged, and threatened everyone who had every thought to call Bobby for a favor over the years. It was time to call in everything owed to him and then some. He had every known hunter in the continental US looking for Dean. And so far, they had nothing.

He listened as Sam eased out the screen door behind him. Nothing was said as Sam stood next to him, his own eyes wandering the horizon. It had been a rough few days and Sam's post-concussion status had only made things more difficult.

He had been stuck in a loop of "find Dean" for the first day, making it impossible for Bobby to turn his back on Sam for even a minute. Bobby had finally yanked the battery out of every running car in the yard and locked all the gates. But that hadn't stopped Sam from wandering out in the yard at night, calling out Dean's name loud enough to raise the dead. Bobby had finally coaxed Sam into sleeping in the panic room, locking him in after Bobby knew he had drifted to sleep, so that he himself could get some much needed sleep.

That had just been the first day.

Day two had ended with Sam dogging Bobby around the house, unable to recall how long Dean had been gone. It had been exasperating for the older man. He knew the after effects from a concussion could take days, sometimes even weeks or months to fully disappear. Considering that Sam had experienced them before, the recovery time could take even longer. His confusion and mood swings were hard to handle and Bobby was beginning to wonder if he should have left Sam in the hospital, even if it was more for Bobby's sanity than Sam's wellbeing.

Bobby found relief on the third morning when he had found Sam in the kitchen making coffee. Without being asked, Sam had offered up his name, their exact location and coordinates, and the date and time. Bobby hadn't said anything, just clapped him on the shoulder and headed for the books. He knew Sam was still mad at him for letting Dean loose and he wasn't about to step in the path of his temper. Sam had sat at Bobby's desk most of the day, silently pouring through books while Bobby answered the phones. Not much was said as the day had progressed. Bobby had gotten more frustrated with every worthless phone call he received and Sam had gotten increasingly somber with every volume he set aside.

Now they were headed into day four.

"What do we do," Sam asked without looking at him. "We can't just sit on our asses and wait."

Bobby nodded his agreement. "You tried calling Castiel?"

Sam nodded. "Every hour on the hour, but he's not responding. Hate to say it, but it looks like we're on our own."

Bobby huffed his disapproval. "You'd think he could get his feathery ass down here to help find the man he saved from Hell."

"You'd think so, but angels—well, in Dean's own words—are just a bunch of dicks," Sam said with a faint smile. "Maybe we should try summoning him."

Bobby headed back into the house. "Now you're using your noggin."

Once they had everything laid out, Sam recited the well-known words.

Nothing happened.

Bobby and Sam peered around the room, their brows furrowed in confusion. "Can an angel refuse to respond to a summoning," Sam asked.

"Didn't think so," Bobby mumbled as he flipped through the pages, looking for an answer. "Maybe he's in battle and can't right now."

Sam dropped onto the couch and sighed. "So much for that then."

"What if something demonic has Dean," Bobby mused. "He wasn't possessed, obviously, but what if Crowley needed Dean for something?"

Sam's demeanor changed instantly. "Like what?"

"I don't know; do I look like a smug demon who sits up all night making plans for the righteous man?"

Sam snorted at the image.

"Alternatively to calling on Castiel, we could call up Crowley."

Sam looked at Bobby in disbelief. "Wait. You're serious?"

"You're the one who said we can't sit here on our asses. We could at least see if he knows anything."

"And what happens if Crowley takes it upon himself to find Dean first? What then," Sam asked.

"How else can we know that Crowley doesn't already have Dean," Bobby asked with a frown. "Can we take the risk of not knowing?"

Sam stood from the couch. "I'll start getting the stuff. You get the devil's trap where you want it."

It didn't take long for them to be ready. Salt and holy water in hand, Bobby tossed the match into the bowl, sending a plume of smoke to the ceiling. He gazed through the smoke and almost sighed in relief when he saw the well-known silhouette. At least something had worked right.

He moved to stand in front of his desk; Sam at his side with his arms crossed and a frown on his face.

Crowley turned slowly in the devil's trap, the look of thinly veiled disdain in his smile. "Been awhile, boys."

"Not long enough," Sam spat.

"That hurts, Moose," Crowley cooed in his smooth voice. He looked from Sam to Bobby before gazing around the rest of room. "Where's the missing stooge?"

Bobby cleared his throat. "That's why you're here."

A look of pleasant surprise crept across Crowley's face. "Oh really? Do tell."

"He's missing," Sam blurted out. "Do you have him?"

Crowley smiled coolly and twisted his cane in his hand. "I can't tell you much I wish I could say yes to that. But no, sadly, I don't have your trained monkey in a cold, dark cell somewhere in the depths of Hell. Maybe next time I'll have better luck than…whoever did you say took him?"

Bobby narrowed his eyes and stared at the possessed man, tapping the flask of holy water against his leg. "We didn't."

Crowley shrugged. "That's too bad. I could have—"

"Sam. Bobby." A monotone voice rang out from behind them; they both turned quickly and found Castiel standing behind the desk, a look on his face that could almost have been taken for displeasure.

"Cas, we've been calling you for—"

"I heard you, Sam."

"Then why the hell didn't you get down here sooner," Bobby snapped angrily.

"The war in Heaven rages on and I am needed."

"Don't give me that bull crap," Bobby exclaimed. "We needed your help! Dean needs your help!"

"I have not received any recent prayers from Dean," Castiel stated. "Therefore—"

"We, Cas— Bobby and I—we needed you. For Dean," Sam said, interrupting.

"Why did you summon both myself and the King of Hell simultaneously," Cas asked, staring curiously across the room at Crowley.

"Cause you weren't answering us," Sam said with a shrug.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Sounds like someone isn't being a team player," Crowley said with a smirk as he gazed at the angel.

Castiel glowered across the room at him.

Well, it certainly looks like you boys can sort this out on your own now that your little angel decided to show up. I'll just be on my way then," Crowley said as he toed the line of the devil's trap. "Someone get the door for me?"

Bobby turned and pointed a finger at him, anger in his eyes. "Not on your life. Not until we're done."

Castiel gazed around the room and finally noticed the obvious absence. "Where is Dean?"

Sam sighed and ran a hand over his tired, stubbly face. "That's what we're trying to figure out, Cas. He's missing."

"For how long?"

"For as long as we've been calling your name out," Bobby snapped.

"Bobby, I sense your anger; however, I have far greater responsibilities than keeping tabs on a man prone to trouble," Castiel said, standing to his full height and staring down at Bobby.

"Cas, come on man. Give us five minutes of your time. This is Dean we're talking about here," Sam pleaded.

Castiel sighed and disappeared.

"Balls! Where did he go this time," Bobby spat angrily.

"Eh, angels," Crowley said with a carefree shrug. "Can't easily kill them. Can't seem to do without them these days. I would hate to be one of your lot right about now."

"Shut up, Crowley," Sam muttered.

Suddenly Castiel reappearing in front of Sam, startling him and forcing him to take a step back.

"I do not see him anywhere," Castiel stated with a shake of his head.

"What do you mean," Sam asked in disbelief, his exhaustion beginning to show. "You have to be able to find him!"

"But as I just said, I do not see Dean anywhere," Castiel replied. His monotone voice, void of any concern for Dean instantly infuriated Sam.

"Look again, Cas," Sam demanded loudly, impatiently. "You have to find him!"

"There would be no point, Sam. He is not anywhere I am able to see; therefore, I am unable to assist you. I am needed in Heaven now," Castiel replied, his head tilted slightly to one side. "I will do my best to resume my search once things in Heaven cease to need my immediate attention."

He was gone in an instant.

Sam sighed and dropped against the desk, a look of defeat on his face.

"Oh come now, Gigantor, no reason to go around like someone kicked your puppy," Crowley said with a crooked grin. "Just because your angel was worthless to you, doesn't mean I will be."

Sam didn't say anything as Bobby stepped in front of him. "Why would you help us find him?"

"Well, I'm not about to expend valuable resources to find your missing Ken doll without some sort of prior negotiations," Crowley said smugly as he patted his breast pocket. "Have a pen handy?"

"No one is signing anything from you, you piece of shit," Bobby snapped as he stood tall over the man in the circle. "I can leave you in there to rot! You want out, you're going to need to start negotiating with us."

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "Have it your way. I can sit here for an eternity, until this old heap falls down around us all. Or until my people come looking for me, which they will soon enough."

Bobby and Sam didn't move from their places, each lost in their own thoughts. Bobby eventually dropped into his desk chair and began to read while Sam collapsed into a heap on the couch. The evening slipped into night, Crowley hummed to himself as the outside world darkened. It was hours past midnight when Bobby caught himself staring over the top of the book at Crowley.

Their eyes met and a small grin crossed Crowley's face. "You have the look of a man about to make a deal."

"Fat chance," Bobby snorted. He glanced at Sam, snoring slightly as he slept. "What about you? You ready to make a deal yet?"

Crowley's smile grew. "Is that desperation, I detect? I know you and Sam are a tad attached to the troublemaker, but being desperate to find him? That's just a weak spot waiting to be exploited."

Bobby slowly rose from his chair and walked out of the room; he returned a minute later with a beer in his hand and was surprised to find Crowley sitting in his chair.

Bobby glanced from Crowley's smug face to the now broken devil's trap. He felt another wave of frustration roll over him; first Dean was appearing and disappearing all over the damn country, then Castiel wouldn't appear for a summoning, and now Crowley was finding ways to break out of devil traps. Something wasn't adding up. "Don't suppose you want to tell me how you got out of there?"

Crowley smirked. "A business associate stopped by unexpectedly. He found my current restraint a hindrance to our arrangement."

Bobby shook his head and tossed the cap from the beer onto the desk. "This day just gets better and better. But I must say I'm surprised you bothered to hang around. Makes me think you've got something to say."

"I thought you should know that your hospitality is lacking…with the devil trap and all…And that while I was telling the truth about not having your precious Dean, I will find him soon enough. And when I do find him, expect the cost of his return to be exponentially higher than you can afford."

"Lot of talk from the demonic piece of crap that has yet to get out of my house," Bobby said as he motioned to the door.

As quick as Bobby could blink, Crowley was gone.

Bobby dropped back into his chair and grabbed another book to look through. He tossed one to Sam; it landed right next to the couch with a loud thud.

"Dean," Sam said loudly as he suddenly bolted upright, his eyes still glazed over from sleep.

"Nothing yet but we've got to double our efforts to find him," Bobby said. "Go start another pot of coffee."

It was going to be another long night.

**Elsewhere**

Deep down he knew something was wrong.

Each time his mom ruffled his hair, something tickled the back of his brain, telling him he was forgetting something.

The coolness of her touch made him cringe. Hadn't she always been warm?

Yet each time the music started again, he smiled and took her hand, leading them to join the others.

The bright light from the full moon illuminated the grassy hillside, while paper lanterns glowed in the trees nearby. The group gathered time and time again to dance where the moonlight touched the ground. Time passed by unnoticed until the first bit of morning light broke across the far horizon. Some of the dancers hurried into the trees with their partners, hand in hand, and disappeared under the dark canopy. Dean watched the morning light dance on the far horizon and glanced towards the couples disappearing into the trees. He sighed with something close to desire and stared after them.

"You want to follow them?"

Dean tore his eyes away from the dark trees looming only a few yards away and glanced at Mary. He nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"You can."

Dean took a step towards the trees.

"You'll need to eat first," Mary said as she took his hand and led him toward a nearby table that he hadn't noticed. He sank into one of the wooden chairs and glanced at the collection of people surrounding the table. Everyone was smiling and laughing, but few words were exchanged by anyone. For each of the young men seated at the table, there was a woman by his side.

He frowned as the nearby music faded.

No sound permeated the trees and only the sound of a few men talking covered the dead silence that seemed to be creeping upon them.

Only when Dean turned to his right and found the chair empty did he realize something was missing. He stared down at it the chair and frowned.

"Sam."

Mary's face froze briefly before she forced her smile wider. "Who?"

"Sam," he repeated, suddenly confused as he glanced around slowly. "Where is Sam?"

"We don't need to worry about Sam," she said soothingly as she patted his arm. "Let's choose something to eat. We've had a long night and you must be hungry."

He stared at the feast piled high before him. She pushed a small pastry into his hand and smiled at him. "Eat. If you want to follow everyone else, you have to eat. Once you do, you and I can take a walk into the woods."

He turned the warm pastry over in his hand, its sweet smell permeating the air. He hadn't felt this good…this loved… since….he couldn't even remember how long. Not since he was little…He smiled warmly at her. He remembered her face.

It had smiled down at him throughout his early childhood.

It had that often returned in his dreams.

And it often came with nightmares…and fire.

He turned and looked at her again, his heart skipping a beat. Something was wrong...something didn't make sense.

He reached out to touch her blonde hair before whispering, "But you died…"

As the words slipped past his lips, silence over took the table. The others at the long table turned and stared at him.

A woman near the end of the table stood and pointed at him. "He needs to eat. Now."

"He was just about to," Mary replied, her voice suddenly sharp.

He felt a small tug of worry pull at his mind and looked at his mom for clarity.

She took his hand and smiled. "Dean, I'm right here with you. I didn't die. I've been here the whole time waiting for you to come and dance with me."

Her blonde curls framed her face beautifully. The softness of her smile and eyes…he couldn't take his eyes off of her; he slowly nodded. Why would he have ever thought she had died? She was right here.

He turned the pastry over his hand again, the smell of it made his stomach growl in hunger.

"You need to eat," she said with an encouraging smile. "You've been here a long while and haven't eaten yet."

He knew he was hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. The smell of the pastry tickled his nose again…he knew it somehow…he had smelled it before. He tried to rack his brain, but it was as if he couldn't get a hold on his thoughts.

He glanced towards the dark, silent trees; his stomach suddenly rolled with worry… something wasn't quite right, but what?

"Where is…."

"There is no one else, Dean. There's just you and me."

"What about—"

"Eat, Dean. You'll understand everything later. Right now, you're tired and hungry. Let us take care of you."

Dean stared into her eyes and nodded slowly, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He lifted the pastry to his mouth, the smell once more tickling his nose.

His mouth dried instantly as he suddenly remembered where he had smelled it before …Washington…Bobby's house…Bobby… Sam. Where were they?

He stood suddenly, the food falling from his hand. He looked at the people at the table, trying to piece everything together.

"I don't know you… any of you…Sam. I need Sam."

Mary was at his side instantly. "No."

Her voice was cold, heartless.

Dean stared at her face, the morning light finally reaching where they stood. As the light touched her face, she took a step back into the shade. Something about her face was wrong…her eyes. They were darkening.

Dean took a step away from her. "You're not my mom."

A smile passed over her face, freezing in place. "Of course I am, Dean. You can stay here with me, if you try." She motioned for him to come to her.

Dean took another step away from her. "No. I'm not going anywhere with you."

The smile on her face disappeared as she took a step toward him. As she stepped into the morning light, she began to change. She grew thin and lanky, her skin taking on an inhuman paleness. Her blonde hair gave way to short shaggy black hair.

Dean froze as she quickly closed the gap between them; she grabbed his arm tightly and lifted him off the ground.

"What are you," Dean choked out as the grip on his arm tightened painfully. His arm was pulsating with pain.

"It no longer matters," it said with a gravelly voice that surprised Dean. "We did our best to offer you the easy path, like the others. Now we will do this our way."

"We? Our? Looks like its only you and me out here now," Dean said through gritted teeth.

As dozens of similar creatures stepped onto the shadowy line that separated the now bright hillside from the forest, Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. "Sonovabitch."

**Okay….you know what to do…..also, guess away. Anyone understand the food? ;) Never take a cookie from a stranger...Bad things always happen...Bwahaaahhaahaha!**


	8. Close Encounters

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural. Woe is me.**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Sam stared at the calendar hanging on the wall across the room from where he sat. He had marked through each day that Dean had been missing. They were on day nine. Sunset was less than an hour away and the darkening of the room only hastened Sam's escalating anxiety.

Not a single phone call had panned out. No one had seen or heard from Dean.

Each time Sam had prayed to Castiel, or anyone else who might be listening, he felt himself become a little more desperate, a little more hopeless.

Bobby stood in the doorway of the room, watching Sam. The silence that had settled over the house was starting to rattle his nerves. They had looked through nearly every book Bobby owned and he knew Sam was starting to feel the weight of the empty space Dean had left behind.

He watched as another minute passed, Sam continued to stare at the damn calendar without even so much as blinking. If it hadn't been for Sam's rapid breathing, Bobby would have been worried.

"You need some sleep," Bobby said, breaking into Sam's silent stare down.

"I'm not tired," Sam mumbled as he tore his eyes off of the calendar and tried to turn his attention back to the forgotten book in his hand. "You might as well go ahead up."

Bobby frowned and glanced at the clock. "Sam, by my count, you've been awake for 31 hours. You need to get some sleep."

"I wasn't tired then either. I've got to keep looking for anything will help us find Dean. We had to have missed something," Sam murmured as he reached for a book on the floor. He tipped forward awkwardly in the chair and had to catch himself on the edge of the desk.

"Sam," Bobby said gently. "Just go to bed, son. You're exhausted."

He refused to look up at Bobby, ignoring his near tumble to the floor. "I'll sleep later."

"Later when? After you fall down in an exhausted heap? You had a concussion just over a week ago. You need to get some rest," Bobby insisted.

Sam ran a hand over his stubbly face and groaned in frustration. "Can we just not do this right now, Bobby?"

"Do what? Talk about your refusal to eat? To sleep? To do anything that a normal human might need to do in order to survive? Dammit Sam, you've got to take a break from all this," Bobby snapped. Sam hadn't responded to his more polite insistences to get some rest, maybe now it was time to start being a little more demanding. He cleared his throat and spoke. "Sam, sleep. Now. I'll keep looking for something."

Sam stiffened when he heard the command in Bobby's voice. He locked eyes with Bobby but didn't get out of the chair.

Bobby didn't blink; his stance firm.

He could see the tremble in Sam's hand as he tried to keep a firm hold on his book; even more noticeable were the unshed tears in his eyes. His pale, stubbly face made the lines under his eyes look even more pronounced; the stitches still in his brow looked dark against his sickly pallor. Bobby knew that under his flannel shirt he was still sporting bruises from his concussion induced car accident. Sam was teetering on the brink of a full on collapse, emotional and physical.

If Sam wouldn't stop, Bobby would have to make him.

"Sam," he barked loudly, making Sam jump in his chair. "You get your ass in bed."

Sam slumped in his chair, his expression caught between defiance and defeat. "Bobby…"

"Don't 'Bobby' me! That puppy dog face might work on your brother, but I'm immune," Bobby stated with a shake of his head. "You've got to get some rest. When we get a lead on your brother, you're going to need to be able to help."

"I've got to find him, Bobby," Sam said, his voice cracking in desperation.

"We will," Bobby said confidently. "But right now, you need some sleep."

"I can't," Sam mumbled, his eyes suddenly glued to his hands.

"Can't or won't," Bobby asked firmly.

"Is there a difference," Sam asked with a tired shrug.

"Bet your ass there is," Bobby said as he pulled a bottle from his pocket. He hefted it in his hand, the contents rattling inside.

"If you won't sleep, it's just a matter of me slipping one of these into your coffee. Now, if you can't sleep, it's just a matter of you choosing to open this bottle and taking one," Bobby said as he set it on the desk in front of Sam. "I'll get the coffee while you decide how we're going to do this. Either way, you're going to get some sleep."

Sam stared at the bottle in front of him, his tired eyes blurring the label. Not that it mattered, he trusted Bobby. He knew he needed sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he was rattled awake by some terrifying image of Dean laying on the side of the road, or stumbling through the desert, or worse…

He rubbed a hand over his burning eyes and tried to think of how to handle Bobby's constant nagging about him needing sleep and to eat. He had to find Dean. If he was the one missing, Dean wouldn't stop looking, even for a minute. Hell, when he had died, Dean hadn't thought twice about selling his soul to get him back. And yet here he was, sitting in a comfy chair, in a warm house, while Dean was God knows were…he had to find him.

Maybe if Sam had gone to the bar with him back in New Mexico… if only Sam had managed to grab hold of him the first time he had started levitating off of Bobby's couch…if Sam had stopped Dean from being pulled right out of the house, right in front of him…if Sam could have kept Bobby from letting Dean go…

The guilt was more than he could take.

Bobby walked back into the room and immediately stopped in his tracks. Sam had silent tears running down his face. Bobby hurried to him and set the coffee on the desk before wrapping his arms around Sam. The sheer touch was enough to break down Sam's last reserve of dignity; the sound that escaped his mouth was almost inhuman. As Bobby steered Sam towards the couch, he could tell Sam had been skipping more meals than he had realized.

After getting Sam's boots unlaced, Bobby tossed them aside. Sam's paleness made him look almost ethereal against the dark pillowcase. Bobby reached for the book in his hands but Sam pulled it away from him, his knuckles white from his grip on the faded cover.

"I have to keep looking," Sam murmured tiredly as he tried to keep his grip on the book.

"You want something to help you sleep," Bobby asked quietly.

Sam shook his head and tightened his grip on the book in his hand when Bobby tried to ease it from his fingers. "Don't."

Bobby let the book slip from his fingers and watched as Sam cradled it to his chest. Bobby sighed and stared at the younger man before tossing a blanket over him. "Get some sleep. I'll get back to the books."

After hours of watching Sam toss and turn, only to bolt awake as whimpers of one nightmare after another fought their way through his lips, Bobby didn't even hesitate as he spun the cap off the bottle and shook two of the perfectly white tablets into his hand. He silently walked across the room and touched Sam's shoulder. Sam opened his blood shot eyes and looked miserably up at Bobby.

Bobby opened his hand, palm up, in front of Sam. "Even Dean has to sleep sometimes."

Sam took the pills with shaking hands and dry swallowed them before turning over, his back towards Bobby. It took less than twenty minutes before Bobby could see the difference in the young man. His tossing slowed to nothing and the sound of his relaxed breathing filled the room.

Once Bobby tucked the blanket back around Sam, he headed for the front door, keys tight in his grip. He paused for a second to look back at him, hoping Sam wouldn't wake up before he returned.

"Sorry, kid. But we're running out of options. It's time to step up our game."

**54°16'53.93"S 36°30'30.38"W**

"Quite the accommodations you've managed to pick out for yourself, Castiel," Crowley said as he turned and surveyed the bleak landscape. In the near distance, he could see the remains of an abandoned village. The wind whipped his jacket around him, his cheeks red from the cold air.

"We needed to talk and no one comes here," Castiel said by way of explanation.

"I can see why," Crowley said with a frown. "I would have preferred somewhere a bit more refined. This kind of inhospitable terrain makes Hell look downright warm and comfortable."

"Crowley, it is most imperative that our dealings are kept out of sight," Castiel said firmly. "It would be most unfortunate for either one of us if our arrangements were discovered."

"I know that, you twit," Crowley snapped. "Now, I'm a busy demon and you're a busy angel, so what did you zap me out here for now?"

"Have you heard anything concerning the whereabouts of Dean Winchester," Castiel asked as he closely studied Crowley's face. He knew that partners or not, the demon would lie to him.

Crowley frowned. "Not a bloody peep."

"Are you sure?"

"That really hurts my feelings," Crowley crooned sarcastically. "Just because I have the most to gain from him going missing, you think I'd hide his carcass somewhere? You know me. I like the theatrics and drama. If I had him, I'd let everyone know and then gut him while they watched."

Castiel considered his statement and nodded. "I believe that you would."

"Dean isn't even part of our plans for Purgatory, why are we spending valuable time talking about this," Crowley asked with an irritated shrug.

"Sam and Bobby are constantly praying to me and it is most distracting. I will not able to avoid them forever," Castiel explained. "It would be better to expend resources into finding Dean and to return him to them. They have been most diligent in their search for him; I would not want them to inadvertently stumble upon our plans. He needs to be found and I am far too busy with the war raging in Heaven."

"Are you insinuating that you want me to send my people to find and retrieve Dean _bloody_ Winchester," Crowley asked with an annoyed frown. "Don't get me wrong, I always have my people on the lookout for him and Sam, but if he's found by my people and then I just give him back to Sam and Bobby… without having some sort of obvious vantage point it's going to undermine my authority in Hell. Besides, we have far more important things to be working on right now."

Castiel leaned over the smaller man, his face stern and authoritative. "I will be the one to determine who and what are worth our time. Find him, I have work to do."

**Else Where Unknown **

He woke with a violent shiver that wracked his entire body.

A bitter breeze swept past him as he tried to take stock of where he was. The last thing he remembered was being chased through the dark woods, shrill screams echoing from the shadows. When he had stumbled into a small clearing, he had realized his mistake. He ended up right where they had wanted him; they had used his fear and confusion to herd him right into their camp.

Dean tried to roll to his side as a wave of nausea assailed him but he found he was unable to move more than a few inches in either direction. His eyes flew open in panic.

He was in a small shack; the thatch roof was barely more than twelve inches from his face making him fight back a wave of claustrophobia. The wooden pallet he was lying on dug painfully into his back; he was tied in place with a roots and vines. He could hear talking nearby and weakly lifted his head to try and see anything helpful.

As he saw the rest of the dimly lit room, another shiver raced through him, this time from fear.

He was one of dozens of men, all tied in place. The pallets were stacked, much like bunk beds, and filled the entire shack. He twisted his head around and looked below his own pallet, a man lay beneath him. He tried to calculate the number of pallets in the filthy shack; he guessed there were nearly a hundred men in all.

He dropped his head back in the pallet and stared up at the thatch roof. He could hear rain dripping on the roof and cringed as it started to slowly drip on him through the thatch. He shivered again from the cold and tried to hold back a cough that was trying to rip its way out of his lungs.

Around him, the noise came in waves. Some men laughed and smiled deliriously while they held conversations with people unseen. Other men were silent and still, apparently unaware of their surroundings.

"Hey," Dean called out lightly to the silent man lying on the pallet next to his. They were barely twelve inches apart but Dean knew there was no way he could reach out to him.

"Hey! Can you hear me?"

The man drunkenly rolled his head toward Dean and mumbled something unintelligent. Dean pulled back at the sight of the man's eyes. They were milky white.

"Blind," Dean mumbled. "What the hell?"

A nearby squeal combined with the sound of something being gutted made Dean freeze and fall silent.

The room was filled with murky light as the shack's door opened. A tall lanky figure walked through the low door and started a slow walk down the pathway that ran between the rows of pallets. The dirt floor made its footsteps silent. Dean watched as it stopped at each man and placed a small item in their mouth. Dean stared at the men, confused that not a single one of them turned away from the creature. As it held out its hand, each man in turn opened his mouth and accepted the small offering.

As the creature grew ever closer to him, the familiar sweet smell wafted past him, making his stomach growl with want. He had no clue how long he had been here, much less how long it had been since he had eaten. He swallowed dryly as he remembered the creature that had worn his mother's likeness and pressured him to eat while at the banquet table. As hungry as he was, he had a bad feeling about whatever it was these creatures were handing out.

Dean could feel his heart drumming in his chest and he drew a shaky breathe to try and calm the pounding in his ears. He closed his eyes as the creature made its way down the path and stopped next to him. He fought back bile as its blistering hot and foul breath filled his lungs. He jumped when something grabbed his jaw and forced him to turn his face. He opened his eyes, more from curiosity than from bravery.

He tried not to panic as he looked into dark eyes; they were nearly black and bigger than a human's. The size of its eyes made the creature's face seem even more gaunt and angular.

"What are you," Dean choked out around his uncontrollable shivering. He was freezing.

The creature said nothing it turned and shoved a small papery wafer into his mouth. Dean choked and spit it out. The creature shook its head, an uncanny humanistic trait, and said in a gravelly voice, "You would be wise to accept our offering. Better to believe the lie than to know the truth, tribute."

It walked silently away and disappeared out of the shack.

Dean shook from fear and the cold and returned to watching the rain trickle in through the thatch roof.

"Cas, if you can hear me, I need some help…"

**Okay…hope you love it so far! I've got special plans for the next chapter—Bobby's got a plan. **

**And where do you think Castiel and Crowley were? Gotta love a map shower curtain. Bwahahahaa!**


	9. Something Wicked

**Disclaimer: I might own this adventure, but I'll never own anything related to Supernatural. **

**Author's Note: I should be cleaning out my writing cave…it's such a mess… It's even worse than Bobby's house! But instead, I give you this! Chapter Nine! And Chapter Ten is under construction already! **

**Also, thanks to Winjennster for her help with this chapter! I think Bobby would appreciate your taste on this one! **

**Kudos to FrostyGossamer for finding Castiel and Crowley on the South Sandwich Islands in the last chapter. Way to use those coordinates to find our boys! **

**Vermillion, South Dakota**

Bobby stared through the dusty windshield of his old, battered Chevelle; the neon lights flashing overhead reminding him of the many times he had come here in the past. There were some places he had never wanted to return to and this place was no exception. The small one story building was still as old and dilapidated as he remembered. It was one of the more seedy places he had set foot in over the years; but while some were no more than a blip in his memory, this one always got under his skin. He had made some regrettable deals here, and he had sworn years ago he would never come back. He grimaced as he slid his pistol under the driver's seat. There was no point in taking any weapons in with him; he wouldn't get past the door if he was armed. No, the only thing he needed in order to enter the building was cash and lots of it.

His fist curled around the roll of hundreds in his jacket pocket, hefting it in his hand for a moment; wondering if it would enough to get in. Not that it would matter, if it wasn't enough, he'd burn the place down to flush out the one person he needed.

He slid out of the car and slammed the door behind him, catching the attention of the man standing in front of the door. Bobby ignored the few people loitering around the door and went straight for the tall, dark man standing in front of the door.

"Ah, Bobby Singer," the man said as Bobby stepped in front of him. "We haven't seen you around these parts of a long, long time."

"Doyle, you haven't seen me anywhere in ages, you blind fool," Bobby quipped, his tone casual even though his body language said this meeting was far from it.

A crooked smile graced Doyle's face as he removed his dark glasses, revealing his cataract covered eyes. "And I remember now why I never missed you. Now, what brings such a morally ridden hunter back to our tables? You lose someone tonight?"

"I need to see Charlotte," Bobby ground out.

Doyle stared down at him. Even with the murkiness of his eyes, Bobby could feel the man looking right into him. "You sure about that, Singer? Charlotte isn't in the mood to haggle over prices these days."

Bobby held out the tightly rolled bundle of bills and placed it in Doyle's outstretched hand. "Neither am I."

Doyle hefted the money in his hand before nodding; he pocketed the cash and stepped aside from the door. "You remember the way?"

"Like a nightmare I can't forget," Bobby snapped as he yanked the door open and disappeared into the darkness.

It took a minute for Bobby's eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Tables were scattered around the dark red room; the bar wrapping around the back of the large room. People sat scattered amongst the room, dice and cards littering the tables.

It was quiet, except for the occasional clinking of glasses, the shuffling of cards, and the low murmur of voices. No one except the dealers looked up from the tables, grim smiles on each of their faces. Bobby huffed and adjusted his cap before heading towards to the black door that stood at the back of the room. Anyone who could afford to get in the front door could talk to Charlotte, but most couldn't outright afford her services. She had expensive taste.

He didn't hesitate as he pushed the black door open and entered the small room. It reeked of incense; the room was murky from its haze. He approached the low table in the middle of the room and dropped unceremoniously into the oversized black armchair. He surveyed the room, it looked innocent enough but he knew Charlotte. She would have the advantage.

He was pulled from his thoughts as someone in the room cleared their throat. He remained reserved and didn't show his surprise, although he had been fairly certain he had been alone when he had entered the room. Charlotte, always with a trick up her sleeve; she was more slippery than any snake he knew. He gazed through the incense laden fog and saw her sitting right across from him, her dark features blending into the bleakness of the room.

"Bobby Singer," she crooned from her own chair. "It's been awhile. What's got you slumming this time of night?"

Bobby frowned at her, his impatience and anger boiling underneath. "I don't have time for your bullshit tonight, Charlotte. I need some answers and so far…."

"And so far, you're shit out of luck," Charlotte stated knowingly as she glared over the table at him. Her eyes burned into him. "If there were easy answers, you wouldn't be here."

He didn't say anything as she smiled coolly.

"And if you wanted cheap answers, you wouldn't dare bother me," she said scathingly.

Bobby sat silent, wondering what this would cost him.

"Oh this must be good," she mused as she leaned towards him, her face illuminated by the low hanging globe between them. "What could it be? You lost someone…No, that couldn't be it…you've got no one left to lose…Someone died on your watch…Now Bobby, that's just a hazard of the job…no point in crying over spilled milk."

Bobby looked up and locked eyes with her; she smiled wickedly before speaking again. "Whatever it is, it'll cost you."

"How much you want," he demanded as he adjusted his cap. "I've got cash."

"I'm done with cash deals, Bobby Singer. I want something money can't buy," she said, suddenly serious.

"No," he said as he stood to leave. "Cash or nothing."

"I'm not asking for your soul," she mused as she leaned back comfortably in the chair. "I could buy all the souls a girl could ever want, you know that."

Bobby walked slowly to the door, wanting nothing more than to leave Charlotte's company yet praying she would catch him before he walked out the door. Once he left, he wouldn't come back. Ever.

He was turning the doorknob when she spoke.

"Fine, I'll make an exception for old time's sake," she snapped.

"And the price," he asked with his back to her, his voice dripping with authority.

"A favor," she said.

Bobby turned and stared at her. "What kind of favor?"

"The kind a girl like me might need one day," she stated as she lit another stick of the foul incense. "Maybe I'll need a hunter to forgo killing me one day; with a reputation like yours, surely you could keep me alive with one phone call. Maybe I'll ask you to tell someone about me, someone important; someone who needs a deal and doesn't quite know where to strike one."

Bobby considered her offer. It was almost reasonable; far more reasonable than other deals she had made in the past. He returned to his chair and caught her attention.

"Agreed," he muttered. "But only if you come through on your end of the deal."

"So, Bobby," she said with a smirk. "What exactly do you need? Someone raised from the dead? A soul found? Or better yet….someone killed? Revenge, maybe? I've been doing a lot of revenge deals lately—"

"No," Bobby snapped. "Dean Winchester keeps getting taken by something. First it seemed innocent enough but then it evolved into something else. Every time he comes back, he can't remember what happened and each time he's in worse shape. This is the longest he's been gone and we've looked everywhere, read everything."

Charlotte listened with her head cocked to one side, her eyes flicking back and forth over his face as he spoke. "And?"

"We need him found," Bobby explained. "You give me a location of where he's at, we'll do the rest."

"Bobby, cut the shit. If he was anywhere you could get to, you'd be able to find him yourself and you wouldn't need my help…Just how far did you look for him?"

Bobby frowned and tapped his knee with his hand. "Far enough that we confirmed that the King of Hell doesn't have him and that he's also far enough out of sight that Heaven can't spot him either."

Charlotte paused at his answer. "Crowley…not sure I would trust him on that but we'll see. As for your Heavenly connection, maybe you should introduce us sometime."

Bobby smirked this time. "He burned the eyes out the last psychic he met."

Charlotte glared at him before shrugging. "Anyhow, what are you asking me to do? Find him? Or shake him loose from whatever's got him?"

"Either. Both, preferably. I need him alive," Bobby stated.

"If he's even alive when I find him…," Charlotte said as she settled back in her chair. "I don't do refunds."

"You never were funny," Bobby muttered under his breath.

"You bring me what I need," Charlotte asked.

"I know the drill," Bobby said as he placed the small leather pouch in her hand. It looked remarkable like a hex bag but Bobby had made this especially for Charlotte. It contained the traditional items she would need; an odd and unpleasant collection of Dean's hair, blood, and the final touch: a small token that represented Bobby in Dean's life. Something that connected them beyond all else, Bobby had finally settled on something small and well used: a bottle cap. Over the years, he and Dean had shared many bottles of whiskey and beer, sometimes after a day gone well, other times during a grueling patch up after a bad hunt, even more often just to grease the wheels of a rough conversation.

Charlotte smirked as she turned the bag over in her hand. "A bit sappier than most but nice touch, Singer."

Bobby sat back in his chair and waited. Charlotte hated to be rushed and wouldn't hesitate to have him removed from the room if she felt his impatience was going to distract her. In her trade, time was money and she had a never ending line of people willing to pay her. He shivered as the room suddenly dipped in temperature, making his breath come out in a puff of fog. He hated this part. It seemed wrong and unnatural. Not that anything they dealt with was ever natural…

He watched her suddenly become rigid in her chair, looking every bit like a frozen statue; he knew that she'd be freezing to the touch. Her eyes glazed over just as they turned white. Not even breathe escaped her red lips. She looked like something he needed to salt and burn, and honestly, one day he expect to. This was something he hated, the look of death that always settled over her when she stepped out of her body. He had asked her once, a long time ago, how she did what she did. Her explanation still made his skin crawl.

It was a rare thing, to find someone like Charlotte. If she hadn't been taken in by the allure of the darker side of their community, he would have called on her more often; but as it was the cost her lifestyle and talent made her far out of reach for the everyday problems.

He glanced at the clock on the wall above her; the hands were motionless. She always had that effect on clocks and timepieces and he had to wonder if it was because she was technically dead or because time ceased to move in the room. Either way, he would have no way of tracking how long she was gone.

He reached around the table and grabbed the bottle of Macallan from the where Charlotte kept her stash. Charlotte always had a bottle somewhere in the room with her, usually used to pry a higher price out of someone, and certainly with the amount of money he had paid her over the years he had earned his own glass of the stuff. He glanced back up the clock and shook his head. This could take hours and he needed to get back to Sam. He wondered how he would explain his sudden disappearance to Sam if he didn't make it back before Sam woke from his drug induced downtime; he certainly had no intention of telling him where he had really gone. No, Sam and Dean would better off to never encounter Charlotte. They were Winchesters and that meant they would strike a deal with anyone if they felt they needed something badly enough.

He frowned into his glass at the thought of another argument with Sam. They had exchanged several harsh words throughout the last several days; their fears and frustration over not being able to find Dean had worn through their last bits of patience with each other. He shrugged and settled back into his chair. There was nothing he could do about it now, he had to stay and wait for Charlotte.

**Elsewhere Unknown**

"Cas—"

Dean woke from his restless sleep with the name still rolling off of his tongue. Some part of him knew he had been dreaming again, begging and pleading for the angel to rescue him but he was too far out of his head to realize his dreams were no longer playing out silently in his head. Prayers, groans, curses had been tumbling out of his mouth for hours; each more desperate than the last.

He would have been mortified at the tears lacing trails down his cheeks if he had could have even felt them. He was exhausted and frozen to the bone. Rain constantly dripped through the roof, seeping into his clothing until he was soaked and shivering. It seemed like it never stopped raining here; where ever here was. He fought bile down again and choked from the taste. He had lost track of time, even the number of days he had been in the shack. The light never changed except for when the door opened and closed and he had lost track of even how often that happened. He hadn't eaten in who knows how long… they, whatever they were, came into the shack often to shove the mouthwateringly fragrant wafers into the men's open mouths. Dean had watched each time as the men opened their mouths like baby birds, begging to be fed. Before his lucidity had begun to crumble it hadn't escaped his attention that the men seemed more and more docile after each one. Now his addled memory fought to keep focused; to keep calling for Cas or anyone else who could hear him. Hell, he'd even prayed to Raphael at one point. But no one came to save him from his hunger and the bone aching cold.

Each time he felt one of the papery, sugary wafers slip into his mouth, he forced himself to fight back his hunger and spit it out. He didn't know how much longer he could resist them. Each time he woke up on the pallet, he prayed to Castiel. He knew that the last few times had bordered on begging, demanding even, but still no one came to save him.

He smirked deliriously, envisioning Castiel telling his superiors that he had lost the righteous man while he had been out busy doing some sort of nerdy angel work; no doubt converting strippers into nuns. He heard another growl from nearby and fought to focus. He knew his mind had been wandering.

He tried to stop his constant shivering. He heard it again and this time he felt the hunger pangs in his stomach. He frowned when he realized that the growling was coming from his own stomach.

His eyes blurred as the door nearby opened and closed. He could barely see the outline of someone approaching. Someone familiar. Someone he should know. Someone he would never forget.

"Cas?"

"Who," a familiar voice asked. Dean stiffened at the sound of the soft, warm voice and forced himself to look at her.

"Mom," he asked, trying to fight past the freezing cold and gnawing hunger, trying to find the part of himself that knew she wasn't there. "You're not real…."

"Dean," she said sweetly as she placed a hand on his cheek.

He found himself pressing into her touch, absorbing her warmth. She pressed her other hand to his forehead and looked at him caringly. "You're freezing, Dean. Let me help you."

"Can't…," Dean muttered through chattering teeth. He knew she wasn't there. She had to be a hallucination. But damn if she wasn't a warm one. He pressed into her hands, trying to focus on the heat and not her eyes.

"It's my job. I'm your mom," she cooed into his ear.

Dean shook his head and bit back a groan as another wave of nausea assailed him, pain lacing through his abdomen. He felt like someone was trying to rip his guts out through his belly button.

"Stop," Dean murmured as he rolled his face away from her.

She hooked a finger under his chin and turned his head back, forcing him to look at her. "Stop what?"

"Hurts…" Dean hissed through gritted teeth as another wave of pain tore through him, making him pull furtively against the vines and ropes that held him in place. He choked as another wave of pain started, one after the other. It felt like someone was grabbing him, pulling him, tearing at him. He could almost hear someone calling his name; demanding he answer them.

He felt something touch his lips. His green eyes flew open and locked with Mary's. "Open up," she said as she ran the wafer across his lips. "One little bite and you can get down. I'll find you a warm bed and something warm to eat. You can sleep. You can eat. I'll be right there looking after you."

Dean shook his head and pulled away from her touch, tasting blood in his mouth. As another torrent of pain tore through him, the last of his restraint fell away, and his mouth opened to let a loud, pain filled scream tear its way out of his throat. He gagged and choked as he felt something being shoved into his mouth, something sweet and warm.

He choked in fear and desperately tried to spit the wafer out but Mary held her hand firmly over his mouth and nose, a smile beaming on her face. Her fingers bruised him as she squeezed his face harshly, her inhuman strength betraying her. "Almost there, Dean."

Tears streaked down his cheeks as his panic and confusion tore at him, making it impossible to breathe. He felt another wave of pain start in his abdomen and felt himself seize against his restraints, unable to stop himself from arching against them. He gagged as the need to swallow and breath grew.

Dean suddenly felt himself engulfed in an icy grip, one that laced through him. He could hear someone calling his name. He sent one last prayer up to Castiel as he gagged and swallowed the sweet wafer.

Just as he did, he felt a hard jolt run through him as though someone had physically yanked him by his very soul. He felt the room spin and tilt before he felt himself falling, the room was sailing past him; a loud sob of relief escaped him as he felt the scenery begin to fade away.

He heard a loud screech and he forced himself to look. Just as the room lost focus, he saw Mary's face fall away to reveal the creature hidden underneath.

**Vermillion, South Dakota**

Bobby was jerked from his meandering thoughts of worry and regret as Charlotte suddenly heaved herself out of her chair. Her breathe moved in and out in short bursts, each one a large puff of cold air. She moved awkwardly, running her hands up and down her arms as though to brush off the freezing temperature that had settled over her. She grabbed Bobby's glass from the table before filling it to the top and drinking deeply.

"You get him," Bobby demanded. He had to know if Dean was alive.

Charlotte choked on the glass and dropped into the chair. "The price just went way up," she said through chattering teeth.

"Did you get him," Bobby barked, making her jump at the sound.

She hesitated before nodding. "Yeah, I got him."

Bobby felt himself relax marginally. "Alive?"

Charlotte's hands shook as she set the glass down. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? You saw him," Bobby snapped. "You have to know what kind of condition he's in."

"I don't know, Bobby," Charlotte spat. "I was too busy trying to get us out of there, alright? I didn't think it was wise to stay and have a chit chat about his wellbeing. You wanted him shaken loose and that's what I did. Now get out."

Bobby frowned and stared at the trembling woman. Not much shook Charlotte. "Where was he?"

Charlotte stared into her glass. "I don't know and I don't want to know."

"Bullshit, you saw something! It might be enough that I can figure this problem out," Bobby said.

Charlotte said nothing. Bobby sighed and dug into his other pocket. He pulled out a roll of cash and set it on the table between them. "Everything, Charlotte, down to the last nitty-gritty details; I need everything you saw."

"There were dozens of them—the men. Trussed up like some sort of prisoners…but they were complacent. No one was fighting to get loose. No one was crying out. They just laid there. Waiting…"

"Waiting for what," Bobby asked, carefully watching her face.

"I don't know… nothing good, that's for certain," Charlotte replied with a shudder.

"What had them? Did you see anything that might help me figure out what they are," Bobby said, trying to coax her elaborate.

"I don't know, Bobby. I really don't. Even if I had taken more time to look, I wouldn't be able to identify them. I'm not a hunter."

"So where was this place? How did you find him?"

"He was nowhere I've ever been before and I'll never go back there either. It was dark and damp. It smelled earthy and even though I could see trees I had to distinct feeling that everything there was just a backdrop. Its someplace we're not meant to find."

"Real helpful," Bobby snapped sarcastically.

I did my job now get out," Charlotte snapped back as she rose from her chair.

Bobby stood and headed towards the door, pausing as he turned the knob. "Where did you drop him?"

"Newport News, Virginia."

"Is it warm," Bobby asked hopefully.

Charlotte shook her head. "I have no clue but the weather isn't your biggest problem."

"What now," Bobby asked with a grimace.

"You know Fort Eustis, the Army base that's there," Charlotte said, tapering off to silence.

Bobby groaned. "Charlotte, if you dropped him on a military base…he's a Winchester! You know better, you might as well just have dropped him smack dab in the middle of the FBI building!"

"It's not like I just pick some location, Bobby! I shook him loose from where he was and that's where he ended up! You better just be damn happy that I even know where he ended up. You have the location you wanted, now get out!"

Bobby slipped through the door just as she hurled the glass at the door, shattering into a hundred pieces with a loud crash. He didn't bother to look at anyone in the room as he hurried towards the door. He had what he came for. Now he just had to find anyone near enough to Dean to find him before the military patrols did.

**Alright, this chapter was fun but I think the next one will be even more awesome! Time to shake Dean's touch with reality. Bwaahaahhahaha! Please remember to leave a review if you can, I appreciate it! **


	10. Army Of One

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to SPN—but I do have an inhumanly loud toddler (named Dean, actually) destroying my pantry in an attempt to take out my secret marshmallow stash. **

**Either way, his namesake's bad luck is about to catch up to him with a time out….**

…**Okay, naptime enforced. Now on with the story!**

**Thanks again to everyone who has taken the time to review these chapters! **

**20.5878° S, 174.8103° W **

Crowley hated being summoned. There was never a convenient time to be yanked from one place to the other. He was a busy man, deals to make, deals to collect, lesser demons to bend to his will. All in all, this secret partnership with Castiel was beginning to cut into his day. The angel had no sense of timing.

"Have you found him," Castiel asked.

Crowley turned and surveyed the green landscape before scoffing. "What was the matter with your frozen fortress of solitude? Lose its appeal already, did it?"

Castiel frowned in confusion. "I have no such fortress."

"Castiel, it's just a reference—"

"I do not understand," Castiel stated firmly.

"You mean that those stooges you hang out with haven't made you watch Superman," Crowley asked. He usually hated small talk unless it led to bigger deals; but then the purgatory deal, that was a pretty damn big deal.

"No," Castiel snapped. "Now, I will ask you again. Have you found him?"

"Dean, you mean," Crowley asked he continued to survey the landscape. He reveled in annoying the angel.

"Unless there is another man I previously asked you to find, then yes, Dean," Castiel said impatiently. "Have your people found him?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, I am. You think I'd miss an opportunity to dangle him by a thread in front of his brother?"

Castiel stared over the ocean view. "Keep looking."

"Can't you just use your angel skills to find him?"

Crowley frowned and thought back to the day he had placed Enochian symbols on the men's ribcages. It had kept them off of his superior's radar, but he had regretted it more than once when he needed to be able to find them. This was becoming one of those times.

"Just find him."

**Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia**

Specialist Gloria Johnson frowned as she turned onto the paved road that ran along the James River. She hated being on patrol, even if this road overlooked the 'ghost fleet' of retired Naval ships. It was boring, raining, and the only thing she ever found out here was road kill and trash. The only thing that made being on patrol worthwhile was the car—a police issue Impala.

In fact, the transportation was the only thing she really found to be a perk while in the Army. She could drive anything if it had wheels and even some things that didn't. Her dad had been a military man back in his youth and she had followed in his footsteps up until his death last year. After lighting his burial pyre she had decided to avoid the hunting aspect of his life; watching her mother fall apart had made Gloria realize she couldn't possibly put her mother through that again. She'd settle for being an Army Specialist and leave the monster hunting to the orphans in the profession.

She cursed the windshield wipers as the rain started to fall harder, making the road less visible in the dim morning light. She needed to get transferred. Hawaii, maybe. Or Florida. She was over Virginia.

She scanned the road ahead of her and went back to glancing along the tree line that bordered the road. Luckily, she was nearly done with her patrol. She smiled about her upcoming weekend plans, two days of no patrol, no uniform, just a few days to sleep, read, and hit the firing range. The only thing that could make her weekend better would be to not have to share barracks. With a huff over housing regulations she turned her focus back to the job.

After a quick scan of the roadway, she glanced back along the tree line and suddenly slammed the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt on the wet road. She threw it in reverse and backed up, using the spotlight to bring something into view. She could see a pair of legs precariously jutting out from underneath the low lying bushes near the road. She grabbed her flashlight and stepped out into the rain, briefly wondering which type of paperwork would take less time to fill out—that of a dead man found on military property or that of a wandering drunk who managed to cross the James River before passing out on military property. Either way, she frowned at the thought of her now ruined weekend. Paperwork— that was one thing hunters didn't have to deal with. No forms, no signatures.

With one hand on her 9mm Beretta, she kicked her way through the dead leaves until she was standing over the man. He was silent and unmoving; he was also younger than she would have guessed. She frowned at his ripped shirt and his bare feet, both red and raw. His jeans were ripped and stained. She nudged him with her boot before sighing deep in annoyance. "Can't exactly handcuff you for trespassing if you're dead," she mumbled as she adjusted her flashlight.

"Just great," she muttered to herself as she heard thunder crack overhead. Lightning raced above them, illuminating the road and trees. She turned and looked around, finding nothing within sight. No shoes, bottles of booze, no bag, no nothing. She kneeled down and felt for a pulse, pulling back from the iciness of his skin. She found a slow pulse and sighed with relief before standing. She hated the thought of being out here with a dead man.

"I hope you've got a name. I don't have time for a John Doe, man, I have plans. Big plans to relax this weekend. You know, the kind where you sleep in and eat pop tarts for every meal. I've got a friend's couch to crash on and episodes of Dr. Sexy to catch up on," she complained aloud as she knelt next to him and tried to find his wallet. Shivering from the rain she pulled at his ripped shirt, wondering how long he had been outside in the cold. The edge of a tattoo on his chest caught her eye, making her immediately question if this guy belonged on base after all.

"Let's see your ink, buddy," she said aloud as she pulled his shirt collar down. "Maybe you're an Army guy after all and we can just skip some of the paperwork, huh?"

Upon seeing the anti-possession tattoo over his heart, she felt her own heart skip a beat.

"Holy shit," she yelled out before clapping her hand over her mouth. She stood and glanced furtively around before remembering that this was private government property. No one would be out here willingly. Hell, she wouldn't even be there if they weren't paying her. She kneeled down and lightly patted his face. "Dude, wake up! If you're a hunter, you've really got to get out of here!"

He didn't stir, even when she slapped him sharply across the face. She sighed before dropping her head in defeat. "There has to be someone that knows you're here. You guys hunt with partners, right?"

She thought back to the years her dad had hunted, nearly thirty years before something had finally caught up with him. He had always had a partner, someone who had his back when he hunted. Surely this guy was as smart as her dad. Either way, she had to get him off the Army base before someone else found him. Trespassers weren't just released at the gate and given an ass chewing, they were arrested.

She reached for her radio before pausing with a sigh. "What the hell am I supposed to do with you," she asked the unconscious man. "There has to be someone who can get you out of here. I can't arrest you! Most of you guys are wanted by someone."

She hesitated before fishing through his other pockets, finding nothing useful. "No phone, no wallet, no nothing. Just great!"

Another crack of thunder made her jump and drop her flashlight. The sound of a branch breaking nearby made her turn and stare into the dark trees. "Hello," she yelled out. "If you're with him, you can come out!"

A loud screech made her draw her 9mm from its holster, sweeping the darkness, looking for her target. Something moved near her left, its shadowy appearance making her back up and stand over the frozen man, gun in hand. "I'm going to guess that's not your partner out there," Gloria whispered. She nudged him with her boots, but he remained silent. "We've got get out of here. I'm guessing you're on a job, huh? Well, I'd rather not know what's out there; probably something with teeth. Big ones…"

Gloria glanced back at her Impala; the engine was still running and its headlights cut through the early morning light and rain. There was no way she could get the car closer to him and with something unknown creeping in the woods she knew she couldn't leave him alone for any length of time.

She hesitated as she slid her flashlight in her back pocket. She stooped low and gave the trees a slow and methodical look as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She could see something standing, watching her, a mere hundred feet away. She quickly hooked her arms under his and began to drag him towards the car. He was icy to the touch and no longer shivering, surely not a good sign. She could feel his sluggish heartbeats in her own chest and briefly wondered if the mystery being in the woods had already fatally wounded the man in her arms. Her eyes never left the silhouette in the trees; she prayed it was the only one and that she wasn't going to be taken down from the side. If there was more than one of them, she'd have to drop him to reach her gun. Even then, she had no idea if her ammo was the kind she'd need to kill it. Silver, her dad had always said. When in doubt, use silver. She let out a quick gasp of alarm when she bumped into something behind her before rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. It was the car.

With a glance back into the trees, she opened the back door and unceremoniously dumped him into the back of the car. She hurried into the driver's seat and locked the doors before peering out into the dim morning light. She could still see the silhouette, this time it was standing a mere dozen feet from the car, hidden in the darkness of the trees. With a determined look, she shifted into gear and sped down the road leaving the mysterious being far behind.

They were a mile away when she heard a pained gasp and gag from the backseat. She immediately pulled over and looked at the man sprawled out on the seat behind her. With one quick glance at him she threw the car into park and darted out the car, yanking the rear door open.

He was turning blue. A shallow gagging sound was the only thing she could hear over the pounding of her heart.

"Shit!"

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Bobby eased through the back door and closed it behind him, cringing at the noise the door made when it finally closed. He tossed his wet jacket and hat on a chair before walking to the study and glancing around the doorway, relieved to see Sam still sleeping on the couch. Bobby headed for the stove and put the coffee pot on.

With another glance at Sam, Bobby headed for his desk. He grabbed his book of contacts and started flipping through the pages, trying to determine who was close to Newport News, Virginia. He didn't know yet how he was going to deal with getting around the military if they found Dean first. If he was found on the Army base, they'd have to arrest him. If he was in bad enough shape physically or out of his head, they'd toss him in a hospital where they'd keep him for interviews after he shaped up. He knew neither option would pan out well for Dean. He'd end up in a psych ward, prison, or graveyard.

Bobby paused when he came to the name of a hunter near Roanoke and cursed when he remembered he had died the previous year. "There's got to be someone down there," Bobby muttered to himself as he poured himself a cup of coffee. What he wanted to do was drive to Virginia and find Dean himself, but he knew that wasn't feasible. Dean couldn't wait that long. He'd have to find someone now.

Bobby carried his cup of coffee and book to his desk, settling in as quietly as he could. He was flipping through the E section of the book when he realized Sam was staring at him from across the room. He looked better than he had the night before, the dark lines under his eyes had faded somewhat. Now, if Bobby could just get him to eat they'd be on the right track.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," he said before he went back to flipping pages. He sipped his coffee and glanced at Sam. He didn't miss the way Sam's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the floor. Bobby followed his gaze and felt his stomach turn over. Boot prints led from the kitchen to where Bobby sat; each wet boot print a shining beacon that proclaimed Bobby had left the house.

"Where'd you go," Sam asked from his place on the couch. He slowly rose and stretched, sore from a night on the small couch.

"Nowhere," Bobby lied before adding, "Just out to check the gates."

He didn't say anything else as he went back to flipping through the pages. He needed to find someone in Virginia soon and he didn't have time to argue with Sam. He wanted someone on the way to Dean before he told Sam he had a lead on where he was. If not, Sam wouldn't hesitate to hop in the car and go tearing off to find him. What Dean didn't need was Sam compounding the situation with the Army.

"Any leads," Sam asked.

"Nope," Bobby lied as he flipped another page.

"Bobby, where did you go," Sam asked, this time with a slightly more demanding tone.

"The gates, like I said. You got a problem with your hearing this morning," Bobby asked as he sat back in his chair and stared at Sam.

"Who's in Vermillion," Sam asked.

Bobby didn't miss the anger on Sam's face; his own face was growing hot with anger. "I don't know how you know about that, Sam, but we're not going to talk about."

"I think I deserve to know! You expect me to just sit here quietly while you disappear in the middle of the night—after you offered me a double dose of sleeping pills, no less—so you can do what?! Look for Dean without me?! I can help! He's my brother, he's my responsibility!"

Bobby stared at the man and sat back in his chair, studying him. Sam's clenched hands were shaking with anger. Bobby drew a deep breath. "I know you can help, Sam. That's not why I didn't tell you about where I was going. The place I went, it's not someplace you go when you reek of desperation and fear. You'll make a bad decision and get yourself killed. And once you're in, you have to decide if the cost is worth it. You can't do that right now…you'd do something stupid. Just like Dean."

Sam sat up like he'd been slapped. "What did you do?"

Bobby shrugged. "Went for a drive. Spoke to an old friend. Drank some high end whiskey…"

"And made a deal," Sam asked, suddenly fearful of the answer.

Bobby froze at the words. "Not that kind of deal, Sam. I paid someone to shake Dean loose from whatever had him."

"What kind of person can do that," Sam asked curiously.

"The kind I don't talk about," Bobby said firmly as he glared at Sam.

Sam sat silent, letting the information sink in. He felt a wave of hope begin to swell in his chest. "Do we know where he is?"

"In a roundabout sort of way. I'll know more when I get a phone call back from Marty," Bobby said. "Now, I want to know how you knew I was in Vermillion. I know you didn't drive, so don't give me that bullshit about how you drove, all hopped up on sleeping pills, and followed me. Spill it."

"The scrying stone," Sam admitted. "You left it on your desk after we used it to look for Dean."

Sam stood from the couch and walked somewhat unsteadily to the desk. He laid a map and small amethyst stone hanging from a silver chain in front of Bobby before walking to the hallway. "I thought whatever had taken Dean had come for you too."

Bobby listened to Sam slowly climb the stairs before sinking back in his chair with a deep sigh. He hadn't even considered how Sam might misinterpret his sudden disappearance from the house. Shit, he had screwed up again.

Sam stared at the shower, wondering if he could keep himself upright long enough to even scrub down. He hated sleeping pills, they always made him feel groggy and uncoordinated afterwards. He opted to just splash cold water on his face before heading back downstairs. A shower could wait. He needed to get back to finding Dean.

As Sam rounded the corner into the kitchen, he heard Bobby talking on the phone.

He paused in the doorway and listened. He was rewarded by Bobby leaning around the corner and glaring at him before he walked out the back door, phone pressed to his cheek and contact book in his hand.

Outside, Bobby tossed the book on the porch railing before turning back to the phone call.

"Marty, yeah, I need to find anyone close to Newport News, Virginia. Specifically someone who can get on to Fort Eustis," Bobby explained as he stared out into the rain. "I'll take anyone close."

"_Bobby, you're not going to find anyone who can sneak onto a military base,_"Marty stated into the phone. "_You need someone already on it_."

"Yeah cause we just all have those kind of connections," Bobby snapped sarcastically.

"_Actually you do…sort of_," Marty said as the sound of pages being flipped filled the phone. "_Yeah, here you go. Remember Silas Johnson_?"

"Yeah and mostly I remember that he died last year," Bobby said dryly. "Any more bright ideas?"

"_Hold your horses, Bobby_," Marty said impatiently. "_He had a kid, an Army brat that enlisted a few years back, wanted to be like her 'ole man. I met her at the funeral. She was stationed at Fort Eustis, she might still be there_."

"Marty, as much as I might need her, I'm not about to have some girl risk her career for this wild goose chase," Bobby argued. "You better have someone else down there you can call."

"_I can call Silas' widow, see if she's still in touch anyone in that area_," Marty replied hesitantly. "_She's not going to want to offer up her own daughter but she might be able to point us towards someone else._"

"Fine. I'll be on the road soon," Bobby said as he snapped his phone shut. He watched the rain continue to fall and sent a not quite pleasant prayer to Castiel.

Bobby slammed the door shut behind him and grabbed his duffel bag from beside his desk. He was always ready to head out; clothes, cash, and weapons packed at all times.

"Bobby," Sam said from the couch, a questioning tone in his voice.

"Get your stuff, we leave in ten," Bobby said as he headed to the kitchen.

Sam climbed the stairs as fast as he could and rushed to throw clothes into his duffel bag. He didn't need to know where they were headed. As long as Bobby was moving, he'd be right behind him. It was the thought of Bobby sitting down, wanting to talk, that terrified him. You didn't leave home in a hurry to collect a corpse; you hurried because there was still a pulse, a hope. As long as they were moving, he knew Dean was still alive.

**Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia**

Gloria climbed in the backseat on top of the young man and yanked his arms forward, forcing him to sit up. She dragged him to the edge of the seat, his lanky legs hanging through the open door. The gagging sound coming from him made her own throat tighten. She awkwardly slid her fingers through his blue lips and tried to find whatever he was choking on. She almost smiled in relief when she saw his green eyes slide open; panic filled as they may have been, she was relieved. Almost, anyhow.

His eyes flew open and tried to focus on her as he suddenly attempted to move away from her.

"Calm down! You're choking," Gloria said, trying to remain calm. She had training, but it didn't cover what to do when you got caught with your fingers down a stranger's throat. She cried out as he bit down on her fingers, breaking the skin across two of her knuckles.

"Goddamn it! Let go," she ground out as she tried to pry his jaw open with her other hand. He tried to wiggle away from her, making it impossible for her to keep a firm hold on him. As he bit down harder, she braced herself before landing a sharp slap across his face. Surprised and disoriented, he loosened his bite and she quickly retreated from him. Without her support, he flopped back onto the seat.

She glanced at her bleeding fingers before the noise caught her attention again. "Try to cough."

His head rolled away from her as the gagging noise got louder. She watched as he looked around, unable to focus on anything. As he turned a tinge bluer she forced her way into the car and straddled him, pinning his arms to the seat. She grabbed his head before turning it sideways, slipping her bloody fingers back in his mouth to check his airway. "Sorry man. But you can't die out here."

He tried to roll his head away but Gloria placed her other hand on his jaw, effectively pining him to the seat. She frowned as she felt the edge of something in his throat.

As she carefully tried to ease it from his throat he gagged again and began to violently dry heave. "Shit," Gloria exclaimed she rolled him to his side and held his head. Bile escaped from his mouth along with a piece of rounded pastry, a crescent moon in the mass of dark bile that now coated the floor. "Gross."

She maneuvered him into an upright sitting position on the seat and quickly used the seatbelt to hold him in place. "Man, you have no idea how badly I don't want to clean that up."

She kneeled on the seat and stared at him, his unfocused eyes wandering over everything. She frowned at the small sounds she heard escape from him lips. She leaned close and listened.

"You're not her…she's dead….you can't be…I'll kill….all of you…..you're not real…."

Startled, she stood from the car and watched his hands move restlessly, never settling on anything or touching anything, just moving with a purpose she couldn't see. She hesitated as she pulled her handcuffs free and slipped them on his already bruised wrists. "Sorry man, but no one is killing anybody on my watch."

"Now what do I do with you," she asked him, not expecting any sort of answer. "If you're crazy, I can't very well hide you in the barracks. I can't drop you off anywhere and leave you either. Hey! Hey! Can you tell me your name?"

He didn't say anything, his eyes wandering, seeing only things he could see.

"What the hell do I do now?"

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Bobby didn't say anything as Sam glanced at him for the tenth time in the last half mile.

"You got a problem over there?"

Sam hesitated before shaking his head, turning his eyes back to the road.

"Good," Bobby huffed sharply as he adjusted the radio. He wasn't about to sit in silence while Sam sulked and felt slighted over Bobby's meeting in Vermillion. He'd seen the boys have hundred mile silences and he knew he wasn't going to have the patience to put up with it.

Sam opened his mouth and before he could get anything out Bobby snapped at him. "Can it, Sam."

"But—"

"But nothing," Bobby said as he pulled onto the interstate. "We all have our secrets. This is one of mine. End of discussion."

"Don't you think we need—"

"Nope!"

"But you're the one who says keeping secrets will get you killed."

"Don't quote me, back to me, kid! And who are you to preach at me about keeping secrets? I seem to remember _one_ of us screaming our lungs out in the panic room while detoxing from demon blood; that was the result of whose secret? Yours! Mine's not hurting anyone so don't go comparing us; we've both got secrets. And mine are staying that way!"

Sam felt his face flush with anger. He couldn't believe Bobby had thrown that in his face, after all this time. He had made mistakes. Hell, they all had…but Sam had to know.

"Please just tell me that you paid in cash and didn't trade something for the help you got…"

Bobby sighed and adjusted his cap. "Sure."

Sam snorted and shook his head. "Not very reassuring, Bobby."

Bobby squared his jaw tightly. "Then stop asking."

They drove for an hour before Sam turned and asked, "Where are we going?"

"Guess I could have told you that sooner. Newport News, Virginia," Bobby said. "About twenty one hours or so."

"Who found him?"

Bobby considered what to tell Sam. He didn't know if _anyone_ had found Dean yet. Marty hadn't called him back with any names. "Not really sure of that yet."

"But it's someone you trust, right," Sam asked awkwardly. He could see Bobby wasn't going to outright tell him anything.

When Bobby didn't answer him, Sam snapped. He was wound tight with worry, panic, and anger; an explosive combination in a Winchester. "Dammit, Bobby! Tell me where he is! Is he alive? Dead? Are we headed for some hunting buddy's house or not? The morgue? Where the hell are we going!?"

Bobby hit the brakes and swerved onto the shoulder before throwing the car into park and turning towards Sam. "I don't know, Sam! I know he's in Newport News, Virginia! On an Army base! I don't know who, or if anybody, has found him yet. I've got Marty looking for anyone who can get on base and locate him. I'm assuming he's alive but I don't know for sure. Does that make you feel better? Cause I don't have any more answers for you! So shut your trap and let me think!"

Sam tightened his jaw and nodded forcefully. "Just get us there."

**Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia**

Gloria's head swiveled from side to side, looking for anyone who might spot her. She had parked the patrol car next to her own car, lining up their rear doors. She needed to get the hunter from her patrol car into her own, a 2012 Dodge Challenger, a gift to herself after her tour in Afghanistan. He was making less sense than before, if that was possible. He seemed to drift to where he was almost asleep before he would jerk awake, only to mumble gibberish again. Gloria was really starting to wonder if maybe he was just crazy. If it hadn't been for the anti-possession tattoo she would have just tossed him in the clink…let her superiors sort him out. But he was a hunter. And even though she hadn't hunted anything since her dad's death, she was in the loop. That made them family. If they didn't look out for each other, no one would.

With one last glance around, she grabbed him under the arms and pulled him to his feet. She frowned at his icy touch and tried to remember if she still had a blanket in the trunk. He was barely standing on his own and he continued to struggle at her touch. He continued to mutter death threats and something about 'her' and 'they'. Without a word, she swiveled him on his feet before grabbing him by the back of the neck, forcing his head low and guiding him into the car. He ended up awkwardly sprawled across the backseat but she didn't care. She just needed to get him away from where anyone might see him and start asking questions. She threw a blanket over him and prayed he could keep still for a few minutes while she took care of a few things. If anyone found him, or discovered that she had found him on base and chosen to hide him, it would be both their asses in the clink.

Twenty minutes later they were speeding away, a small triumphant smile on her face. She drove around for a while, trying to sort out where to stash him. It might have been possible to hide him in her barracks, it had been done before after all, but it wouldn't be possible if he was delirious and muttering death threats. She briefly considered calling one of her friends who had a house on base, but they had kids. Bringing a death threat muttering, poorly clothed man who reeked of vomit to a friend's house might just end the friendship. No, she needed someplace quiet and away from people.

She decided on a cabin, they could be rented by military personal and since they were located on base, she could get there quickly. She raced to the small grocery nearby. After a quick run through the store, she heaved bags of food and first aid items onto the front seat and climbed in, ignoring the groaning coming from the backseat.

"You awake yet," she asked.

No words came from the back seat.

"You have a name?"

Silence returned to the car.

"Anyone I can call?"

Still he said nothing.

She sighed and headed for the cabins. "Someone has to be looking for you."

**South Dakota Interstate**

Bobby jumped as his phone rang, the car swerving slightly as he dug it out of his pocket. "Marty?"

"_Yeah, Bobby. I called Silas' widow. We're on our own_."

"She didn't offer up her daughter, huh," Bobby asked somewhat disappointedly. Not that he blamed the woman. Her daughter was all she had left.

"_Not directly. I'm trying to find the daughter now_," Marty stated. "_Her name is Gloria and her mom did confirm that she is still working on the base_."

"And how do you propose that we find her on a military base that we don't have access to," Bobby asked curiously. "We've faked ID's before, but we won't be able to pull this one off."

"_No clue_," Marty admitted. "_I'll keep working on it_."

Bobby tossed his phone on the dash and huffed with annoyance. They needed Gloria. She was the only one they knew of and they couldn't spend the time trying to find anyone else. But if Silas' widow wanted her daughter safe, he didn't know how he could go against that.

"What's the problem," Sam asked from his side of the car. The ride had been quiet even though arguments boiled beneath the surface.

"Can't get hold of the one sure fire person who can get us the Army base," Bobby grumbled as he pushed the engine harder. "Name's Gloria Johnson, daughter of a hunter who died last year. She's stationed there. Probably knows the base better than anyone else we're going to find."

"Do you really think Dean hasn't been found by someone yet? Don't they patrol like all the time on bases?"

"You'd think so, I'm just hoping he ends up in a medical complex and not in jail," Bobby said. "Who knows how badly off he'll be after having been gone so long…"

"You think he'll remember anything this time?"

"I don't know, Sam. And as much as it might help us figure out what's happening to him, I'm not sure I'd want him to remember anything…."

**You know what to do. Feed the word machine! **

**Much kudos to WinJennster and her hubs Chris for their help with the Army details and scenery. Much appreciated! **

**Also, for those of you who can lend me your glorious skills of harping at a writer to finish a story (you know who you are) go check out the story '**_**It Begins'**_** which is posted over at Archive of Our Own. WinJennster's hubs is writing it under the name **_**Ravenjeep2001**_**. It's brilliant and delves into the SPN character H who apparently had everything to do with anything (I had never heard about him prior but he's a wicked curiosity). Chris is dragging a certain body part whilst working on the next chapter...you can imagine which one..**

**So, release the hellhounds, Kraken, and whatever else you've got; encourage him to finish it! I'd appreciate your help, immensely! I have to know what happens! Where the hell did the Impala go?!**


	11. Be All You Can be

**Disclaimer: I don't have any connections or claims to the CW's Supernatural. I do indeed though, have these awesomely fun adventures. Now, to find the SPN fax number…and find a crossroads…**

**Author's Note: Thank you for all the reviews on the previous chapter, I love to use them as ways to get to know the readers and hone in on what you guys want to read. Cause I aim to please! **

**Also, thanks for not just gutting my girl Gloria, she'll be a help to Dean without complicating him, like so many other female characters do. I'll keep an eye on her, I swear! **

**Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia**

Gloria heaved him up the few steps and dragged him into the small cabin, kicking the door shut behind them. Luckily, it didn't look like many of the cabins were occupied yet and most people weren't ready to start their weekends at 8am. How many of the cabins would be rented for the weekend though, she couldn't guess. It was foul weather and she hoped that most people would vacate the cabin area. She dropped him on one of the small beds before covering him with every blanket within reach. He was still cold.

She hesitated before she removed the handcuffs, laying his arms above the covers where she could see them. He was definitely bigger than her, but his slow uncoordinated movements and lack of awareness made her confident. She headed back out to the car, bringing in everything she had packed for her own ruined weekend as well as the bags from the store. She grabbed the containers of salt and quickly walked through the cabin, laying down thick lines on the windowsills and along the doorways.

A deep set frown was etched on her face as she considered how to locate someone to take him off her hands. Surely, someone was looking for him. There had to be other hunters in the area, if they were close enough she could drive him wherever anyone would meet her. She remembered her dad's journal and wondered if her mom still had it. She remembered some of the names in there, but without the phone numbers it was worthless knowledge. Hunters weren't advertising in the yellow pages these days. She hesitated before she reached for her phone. Her mom had refused to talk about hunting since they had lost Silas. Gloria hesitated before dialing her mom, stopping in the doorway of the bedroom to check on her mystery guest.

He was gone.

Gloria slid the phone into her pocket and rushed into the room. She stared at the empty bed in confusion before she heard a noise behind her. She kicked herself for her stupidity.

He grabbed her tightly, one arm wrapped around her throat while the other snaked around her torso.

"Is this the lie," he whispered into her ear. "He wouldn't do this….he's my brother….you're just monsters….in the dark…"

Gloria tried to fight back her panic as she fought to get loose of the suddenly mobile hunter. He was taller than her, providing him somewhat of an advantage. With her boot she stomped on his raw, bare foot and slipped one arm loose and thrust her elbow into his ribs before slipping around in his grip, turning to face him. His green eyes burned with pain, fear, and hate sending a chill through her. He fought to regain his grip on her as she suddenly thrust her arm up between them, loosening his grip on her neck. Before he could recover, she punched him hard in the center of his chest, sending him back with a groan. He stumbled and clung onto the doorframe, panting wildly. She stayed in a low position, watching him closely as she gingerly touched her throat, it ached from his bruising grip. He looked around slowly before muttering unintelligibly.

"I'm not whoever you think I am. But let me assure you, you try that again and I'll kick your ass," she said, her voice raw, knowing it wasn't going to get through to him. His mind was somewhere else while his body was left behind to defend itself. She considered what kind of monster he could have been hunting, knowing that several of them could alter someone's perception of reality.

She watched as he was suddenly overtaken by shivering, his hands shaking forcefully. She was relieved; shivering was a good sign in his case.

She coughed lightly, trying to see just how badly her throat was hurt. His head swiveled towards her, his glassy green eyes honing in her with a fierce look of determination. He took one step towards her, making her rethink her position. "Let's just stay there, okay," she said lightly as she glanced from him to the doorway behind him.

"Stop…," he ground out between chattering teeth. "Just stop looking like them….you evil sonovabitch."

She froze, not sure if he was talking to her or something he thought he was seeing. She slowly glanced from side to side to make sure they were truly alone; seeing nothing she turned her attention back to the man in front of her. "You need to get back in bed," she muttered. "Try to warm up."

He didn't respond to her words as he took a shaky step towards her, his firsts curled tightly and his eyes full of hate. Without another thought, she charged him and brought him to the floor with a thud.

**Somewhere in Dean's Mind** (Not sure how else to put it. Suggestions?)

Dean was freezing. Pain assailed him on all fronts, his burning feet, his aching chest, just….everything. Every sensation seemed to cut right through him, every sound seemed loud and foreign. He felt something hard underneath him, cold and rough on his skin. Hands were all over him, pulling at his clothing, arms, and legs.

He struggled to see anything; his sight was filled with strange bursts of color that seemed to move on their own. He tried to rub his eyes, cringing as something pushed his hands away.

"Stop, you're going to rub them raw," a voice said, cutting through the fog that muffled his brain. He struggled to look in the direction of the voice. He could see an outline of someone standing over him, leering at him. Their face seemed to be a collection of change, like paint mixing together. First the face was black and young with eyes that looked down at him with concern. Next it morphed into his mother's face, one that smiled sweetly before baring sharp teeth at him. He tensed and cried out. "Stop!"

He watched in horror as it turned into his dad, his stern look made Dean freeze.

"Stop fighting me," he demanded as his eyes turned dark; black and bottomless.

"No! …No… you're not… you're dead…you're dead," he said bitterly. "They're all dead…"

"I'm not dead," his mother cooed into his ear. "I'm here with you."

Dean shook uncontrollably as another round of shivering tore through him, his teeth chattering loudly.

The shack. He was still in the shack. His heart jumped in his chest as he remembered the dank, cold shack in the woods. The being standing over all the men, plying them with food...

He looked around wildly, trying to see where the other men had gone. He was alone.

Rain battered the roof overhead, pounding louder than ever. He felt water begin to rise around him, dragging him down, drowning him. The spots in his vision exploded as he tried to get out of the water. Something held his wrists tightly, cutting into his flesh. He cried out as he felt rough hands pushing him down into the water. The water was excruciating, the feel of it sending pins, needles, and daggers through him.

"Open your eyes," the voice demanded.

He shook his head wildly and howled. "Lemme go!"

"Come on, open up," the voice said. "Look at me."

Dean sobbed as he cracked an eye open and saw his mother standing over him, a look of triumph on her face. "I'll take good care of you," she said with a smirk. "We're going to be fine."

"Sam," Dean cried out as he fought against the weight on his chest, pushing him deeper into the water. "Sammy!"

**Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia**

Gloria struggled to keep him in the bathtub as the lukewarm water rushed out of the faucet. She had stripped him down to his boxers and maneuvered him into the tub, his hands handcuffed to prevent any more attempts at killing her.

He fought with more endurance than she had given him credit for earlier. He cried out as the water rose; his muscles contracting at the sudden change in temperature. She knew it hurt, but lukewarm water was the safest place to start. Once his body temperature got adjusted, she could refill the tub with warmer water.

"Hang on," she said calmly, hoping that her tone might be enough to calm him down. She jumped when he began to sob and cry out 'Sammy'. She shuddered at the sheer pain in his voice, it was more than physical. It was emotional and damn near heartbreaking.

He slowly quieted down, his taut body relaxing into the warmth even as he continued to shiver.

"Must be running out of adrenaline," she said with a sigh of relief. "About time too."

She watched as his eyes began to droop closed, only to snap open every few seconds. He held the side of the tub tightly, his knuckles white from his attempt to prevent from sinking into the water. He shivered violently as he began to slide further and further into the water, his eyes rolling wildly at the sensation. Gloria glanced around the bathroom for any way to keep him upright in the tub and found nothing.

She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. "Dammit."

As she fought to remove her already soaked jacket and uniform pants she tossed her phone next to the tub. She'd call her mom later. First things first, she had to get him warmed up and out of the tub where she wouldn't have to worry about him drowning himself.

"What the hell are you doing, Gloria," she asked herself as she climbed in the tub behind him, holding him upright. She finally managed to get her arms wrapped around him with his head lolling on her shoulder. His knees stuck out of the water but she couldn't help that, he was just too damn tall. The water sloshed to the top of the tub, submersing them as deeply as possible. She shivered in the lukewarm water and wondered how long it would take before the tub could be filled with warm water. His skin was still cold and shivers raced through him.

After refilling the tub with mildly warm water, she noticed he had begun to relax into her arms. His grip on the side of the tub had loosed completely, his hands sliding into the warmth of the water. Gloria could hear the rain pounding on the roof of their cabin, wind whipping around it. If it hadn't been for the shivering man in her arms, this wouldn't have been a bad way to spend her morning. A hot bath in a rain storm. Something about it seemed so soothing.

She sighed contentedly as she listened to his even breathing, she was fairly certain he had finally slipped into an exhausted sleep. She wondered how much longer in the tub it would take for him to stop shivering.

If her dad had ever found her in this situation with a hunter, he'd have tanned her hide. His belief had been that while you watch out for each other, you never trust someone you don't know. Especially one whose name you didn't know. Reputation could help you a long ways in knowing someone, but this, this went against the way she had been raised. She smiled sadly at the idea of her dad giving her one last ass chewing, yelling down at her from his place in Heaven while shaking his finger at her in frustration of her stubbornness.

She closed her eyes and relaxed into the warmth of the water, resting one hand over the man's heart.

**Somewhere in Wisconsin **

Bobby grabbed for his phone as it went off again, answering it before it woke Sam. The kid had finally given in to the late after-effects of the sleeping pills, the road noise lulling him to sleep the second the engine had reached seventy miles an hour. He smiled, next time Sam refused or couldn't sleep, he'd just cram the kid in the car and hit the road. Hell, Sam had been raised in the backseat of the Impala, it was the most obvious place he'd feel safe and relaxed.

"Marty," Bobby said without looking at the phone. "You find her?"

"_I called a friend of a friend, who called a friend of a friend and_—"

"Marty, yes or no," Bobby said, interrupting the man.

"_I got her cell phone number_," Marty said. "_I've tried calling her but I'm not getting an answer_."

"Give me the number, we'll keep trying while we're on the road," Bobby said. He listened to Marty repeat the number twice before Bobby had it. "I'll call her now."

"_You ever work with Silas in the past_," Marty asked.

"Once, about ten years ago. She won't know me, but she's our best shot as of right now."

Bobby hung up and recited the number to himself as he dialed.

**Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia**

Gloria was pulled from sleep by her obnoxious ring tone. She blinked and realized she was still in the tub, holding the man's back to her chest. He was limp in her arms, his head lying on her shoulder. The water had cooled, letting her know they had been in the tub for a while. As the ringing continued she reached out of the tub and found her phone on the floor.

"Hello," she asked somewhat sternly as she tried to adjust her position in the tub. Her right leg had fallen asleep from sitting so long in a cramped position.

"_Looking for Gloria Johnson_," a man's voice asked.

Gloria stiffened. "And?"

"_Are you her_," the voice asked with an impatient huff.

"Who is this," she asked, refusing to acknowledge his question. Her day had already been weird enough without adding any more to it.

"_I'm looking for Gloria Johnson. I'm an old acquaintance of her dad's_," the man said. "_So are you her or not_?"

Gloria sighed before saying, "Yeah. Now who is this?"

"_Bobby Singer. I worked with your dad about ten years ago on a job near Roanoke_," the man explained.

"And," Gloria asked as she worked to adjust herself in the tub, the man leaning heavily on her.

"_I'm looking for a hunter, he…he's lost and I got word that he may be on Fort Eustis,"_ Bobby explained. "_I was hoping you might be able to find him before anyone else does_."

Gloria jumped at his words. "Description?"

"_Brown hair, green eyes, 6'1'_," Bobby said.

"Identifying marks," Gloria asked, already knowing the answer.

"_Anti-possession tattoo—"_

"Over his heart," Gloria exclaimed, interrupting him. "I've got him."

Bobby's sigh of relief came through the phone.

Gloria maneuvered herself out of the tub, leaning the man against the sloped back of the tub. Bobby could hear the sound of sloshing water and curiously asked, "_What the hell was that_?"

"We're fine; I just had to get out of the tub. Been in there for probably over an hour trying to warm him up; he couldn't seem to hold himself up," Gloria explained into the phone as she tiptoed across the room towards the towel rack. Her t-shirt stuck to her, making her shiver in the cool air. "He's not in great condition, so don't hold that against me."

"_What's wrong with him_," Bobby demanded. "_You find him outside? How long was he out there for? Can you get him off the base? Who found him_?"

"Whoa, slow down," Gloria said as she wrapped a towel around her and began to drain the water from the tub while refilling it with warmer water. "First thing, I'm the one who found him and he's damn lucky I did. He's even luckier I know what that tattoo is, without that I wouldn't have had a clue he was a hunter. If someone else had found him, he'd be in lock up right now."

"_Where was he_," Bobby asked. He needed details. Sam would need to know.

"Passed out in the woods near the James River," Gloria explained. "Sheer luck that I spotted him while I was on patrol; he was hidden by some underbrush. Strange though, something was in the woods with us. What was he hunting out here?"

"_You see it_?"

"Not enough to tell what it was but enough to know I didn't want to get any closer to it," Gloria said. "It was fast, I know that. And tall. Heard some screeching."

"_How is he_?"

Gloria turned and looked down at the man. His paleness accentuated his freckles, making him look younger. "Hypothermic for starters. Wasn't even shivering when I found him. I've had in him the tub for a while now, warming him up slowly. He's bruised, his feet are in bad shape but he wasn't even wearing shoes when I found him. He keeps rubbing at his eyes, not sure why though."

"_Does he know where he is_," Bobby asked, worried how Dean was taking his sudden return to reality.

"I don't think so. He's not made any sense so far. He's combative. Had me by the throat earlier but I got him down after a minute. I'm not sure I'd even use the word 'confused' at this point, since he's not even touched down in reality yet. From his babbling, it's more like he's seeing and hearing things that aren't there; his mind is somewhere else completely and wherever it is, it's not a happy place."

"_I bet_," Bobby murmured in the phone. "_Look, we're still a ways out from you. Is there any chance you can keep an eye on him until we get there_?"

Gloria hesitated. "I've got the time but I'm not equipped for this."

"_That man is Dean Winchester. If he's found, he'll end up in prison. Trust me, you're equipped enough_."

Gloria stared down at the man. She had heard stories about him and his brother, but her dad had kept it to just that, stories. Trouble followed them wherever they went.

"Anything I need to know," Gloria asked. "I don't want to make this worse."

"_Trust me, this can't get any worse_," Bobby stated firmly. "_But there are a few things that might help you out_."

"Ok, let's have it then," Gloria said as she pulled more towels from the rack.

Bobby chuckled slightly. "_First off, that he's a bad patient even when he's in his right mind. When he's out his head, he can be a handful. Combative, noncompliant, angry, and once he starts a high fever his grip on reality gets spotty_."

"Sounds peachy," Gloria replied. "Just what the hell am I going to do with him?"

"_Just keep him from getting found and I'll call you when we're close. We're driving from South Dakota, should be there sometime tomorrow. We've got two drivers so we'll drive through the night to get to you. Any way you can get him off base_?"

"Shouldn't be that hard. I'll call you if anything happens."

"K_eep in mind he's been through the ringer but don't be afraid to do what you have to; he was raised in the life. Sometimes he responds best to a stern voice. And Gloria_?"

"Yeah?"

"_Don't let him out of your sights. Something's after him and he'll disappear into thin air_. _We can't lose him again._"

Gloria turned around and looked at Dean, still lying precariously in the tub. "I'll keep tabs on him."

After tossing her phone aside, Gloria set about heaving Dean out of the tub; a tricky move on a wet floor. She half carried, half dragged him to the bed before she heaved him onto it and wrapped a blanket around him. He was still pale, yet his color was far better than from when she had found him. Keeping Bobby's words in mind, she grabbed all of the bags and threw them on the dresser. She gave one last glance out the front door before checking all the doors and windows again.

Content that they were as safe as she could make them, she shoved him to one side of the bed and draped blankets over him before settling on the far corner of the bed wrapped up in her own blanket. She grabbed a box of pop tarts from her bag and the remote.

She skimmed through the channels before finding the Dr. Sexy marathon. Hopefully, Dean was a fan.

**Somewhere in Wisconsin **

"Sam, wake up," Bobby said as he nudged the man.

Sam sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Marty call?"

"Better than that. Dean's been found and I've got Gloria Johnson keeping an eye on him until we get there," Bobby said as he pulled off the interstate and headed for a gas station.

Sam's relief was evident, his entire body relaxed. "Finally. How is he? Why didn't you wake me up to talk to him?"

"He's not up to talking," Bobby said, worriedly. "He's out of it."

Sam sat silent for a minute. "Is Gloria prepared for this?"

"I told her to go easy on him, but to do anything necessary. She'll do alright by him."

"I hope she's up to it," Sam said, concern dripping from his voice. "You know how he can get…"

"He had her by the throat earlier; she said she took care of it."

Sam looked at him, his eyes wide. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means that she's an Army brat who grew up with a hunter for a dad and then joined the Army when she was old enough. She took care of it. Probably better than most would have been able to. He'll be fine."

"Hope so…Wait 'til Dean finds out a girl kicked his ass!"

**Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia**

Gloria woke to the sound of thunder clapping overhead. The light from the television cast a soft glow across the room, illuminating the man rolling restlessly in the bed. She flipped the lamp on and moved to look at him. He was covered in sweat, his cheeks red from fever.

"How do you go from freezing to cooking in two hours," Gloria asked rhetorically. She laid a hand on his cheek and cringed at the roll of heat that came off of him. "Just great."

She dragged all but the sheet off of him, making him shiver. She dug through the bags to find the Gatorade she had bought at the store. Who knew how long ago it had been since he had eaten or drunk anything… She spun the cap loose before moving behind him and forcing him to sit up against the pillows. His head rolled towards her, his green eyes glassy and confused.

"You need to drink this," she said, calmly but firmly, remembering Bobby's advice.

He fought against her hold, thrashing his head from side to side. "No…no…no!"

"Dean. Stop fighting me," Gloria said firmly, glad she had left the handcuffs on him. "You've got a fever and you're probably dehydrated."

He continued to fight her until she moved the bottle from out of his sight; he immediately calmed somewhat. Curiously, she moved it back within his sight and watched as he fought her, his eyes glued to the bottle in her hand. She moved to the table and picked up a leftover pop tart and offered it to him, frowning when she got the same reaction.

"Food phobia? Bobby didn't mention that," she commented as she pulled her phone from her pocket.

Fifteen minutes later, Gloria was covered in Gatorade, a scowl across her face as she ripped the wet sheet from the bed. "So much for Bobby's bright idea," she muttered. "Guessing we're going to have to find another way."

She sat on the end of the bed and watched him. He looked miserable. Sweat beaded on his skin as a sudden cough wracked his frame. Gloria reached for another blanket and started to wrap him up when he began to mutter under his breath.

"Stop…cold…Sammy, make it stop….cold…"

Gloria sat back and considered the man in front of her. According to Bobby, they didn't know what was taking him. Of course, he had also said that Dean had never been gone this long before. With a look of determination, she grabbed the blankets and hauled them back off of him. There had to be a clue somewhere and damned if he wasn't the biggest clue they had. She flipped on the lamp and began to search closely; there had to be some kind of clue somewhere on him. Some sort of mark. Even a wound might be enough to help sort it out. She frowned at the bruises that laced around him ankles and wrists, old bruises laced up one of his arms. There were new bruises from their tussle earlier in the day, a mass of blue in the center of his chest. She gently prodded the bruise and frowned at his lack of pain response. Wherever his mind was, it didn't seem well connected with his body.

She continued her hunt and smiled in triumph when she found it. A faint mark, barely visible, could be seen on his lower back. She got as close as she dared and looked at the faint mark, it was round and raised, looking much like a brand on his skin. Tiny, raised marks ran around its inner band. She grabbed her phone and snapped a picture before sending it to Bobby. She ran a light finger over the mark and found it to be ice cold, burning her as she touched it. With a frown she answered her ringing phone.

"I'm going to guess he didn't have that last time you saw him," she said as she dropped the blankets back over him.

"_Where is it_," a new, younger voice asked impatiently.

"Who the hell is this," she demanded.

"_Sam Winchester, Dean's brother. Bobby's here in the car, working on some details of our own_," Sam explained.

"Fine," Gloria snapped. "It's on his lower back; he probably couldn't have seen it himself. Honestly, if it wasn't for how flushed he is with his fever, I don't know if I would have noticed it either. It's small, about the size of a dime. It's colored like a bruise but it's definitely not. It's too perfect in shape, looks like a lot like a brand except that the coloring isn't right."

"_How's his fever going_," Sam asked, worried. Dean didn't do fevers well, even in his right mind.

"He's sweating up a storm, blazing hot to the touch but he keeps muttering about how cold he is. Speaking of which, this mark is freezing cold to the touch. Can't be a good sign."

"_How deep does it go_," Sam asked, knowing what she would have to do. "_We need to know_."

Gloria carefully prodded the mark, hissing at the iciness that raced up her fingers. She could feel the edges of it. "Not deep. Something you want to share?"

She could hear Sam and Bobby talking in the background, road noise filling the phone.

"_We'll probably have to burn it off_," Sam asked hesitantly.

"Are you sure it won't kill him," Gloria asked, surprised. "You don't know what it is!"

"_Bobby_ _seems to think that it's causing his feeling of being cold. Maybe even the fever too. Doesn't matter, it has to go. We can't take the risk that the mark is how he's being found and taken."_

Gloria sat quietly, watching Dean shudder as another round of shivering set in. He was burning to the touch and shivering at the same time. She looked at the mark on his lower back and ran a finger over it.

"I'll do it," she muttered into the phone.

"_What? No_," Sam said firmly. "_I can't ask you to do that. We'll do it once we get there_."

"His fever is going up, Sam. What if he can't wait that long?"

Sam didn't reply.

"Sam?"

"_Do it_."

**Okay, I would apologize for the cliffie but I'm feeling evil this morning, and deep down, you know you love it! Alright, the next chapter will be coming soon, but please keep in mind that I've got a birthday to destroy, a quick 9 hour drive to FL and an 11 hour drive back, and a novel to write this week. But never fear, my laptop is going with me and I've got fresh batteries in the voice recorder should any ideas hit me while doing seventy miles an hour. **

**Please remember to leave me a review. Does a body good! **


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